


Chosen

by TillieJupiterRising



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Curses, Deception, Drama & Romance, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Head Boy Draco Malfoy, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Smut, Universe Alteration, Violence, War, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 17:03:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 59,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6337660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TillieJupiterRising/pseuds/TillieJupiterRising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their 6th year at Hogwarts ended peacefully, but as the war loomed ever closer, Draco and Hermione found themselves in a different kind of struggle. Harsh truths, unrestrained passions, and the ever-present threat of war forces them into an unlikely partnership. They must find a way to overcome the past, to survive a dangerous and uncertain future. A reimagining of the last years of the Harry Potter series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue and Chapter One

** Chosen **

By Tillie Jupiter Rising

 

**Disclaimer**

In its use of intellectual property and characters of Harry Potter belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.

**Summary**

Their 6th year at Hogwarts ended peacefully, but as the war loomed ever closer, Draco and Hermione found themselves in a different kind of struggle. Harsh truths, unrestrained passions, and the ever-present threat of war forces them into an unlikely partnership. They must find a way to overcome the past, to survive a dangerous and uncertain future. A reimagining of the last years of the Harry Potter series.

* * *

 

 

**Prologue**

As rumors began circulating of the outbreak of war within the wizarding world, various witches and wizards began to plan the only way they knew how; while the new and secret Order of the Phoenix came together once again in the pursuit to destroy the Dark Lord, Voldemort, and protect "the chosen one", Harry Potter, the Ministry began to discuss ways to keep war from breaking out. Laws were instituted by the Ministry as a way to keep both factions from gaining any traction, halting the progress of what some saw as inevitable.

Laws were instituted that would limit the amount of magic that was available to unsanctioned institutions. These laws limited what the Ministry called the use of "magical items with inextricable magic elements that encouraged mischief", which was a fancy way of banning magic items that would be seen as oddities by most in the wizarding world but as tools by others. This meant that the various items one might find at Borgin and Burkes, private residences, and Hogwarts were banned and collected by the Ministry for safe keeping. Without these items and other sanctions set in place, the Ministry was successful in halting the progress of war, for a little while at least.

Though the Ministry felt they were successful in their efforts it only allowed for more time; the Order was given more time to train and plan, especially since Harry Potter and Dumbledore's Army were still underage and didn't possess all the power they would need when it came to battle. With war put on hold, Harry Potter and friends were able to complete their 6th year at Hogwarts as if it were any other year. No death. No war. The uneasy feeling and suspicion that Harry had that something was going to happen did not come to fruition. But if only they knew how close it had come...

Lord Voldemort and his followers continued to plan ways to infiltrate Hogwarts. With their efforts thwarted last year, Lord Voldemort began to plan new sinister ways to further his agenda and his life. But the details of this, as always, were unclear to everyone, even his own followers. This inability to see into the Dark Lord's plans made some in the Order more worried, while some actually felt optimistic that the Ministry's actions and those of the Order were actually beginning to ward off war.

With war seemingly halted for the time being, the new year—Harry Potter and friends’ last year—was to begin as if it were any other. For some, there was a feeling of optimism that maybe their lives wouldn't be interrupted by war; for others, there was a feeling, and even knowledge, that war was inevitable, and time was running out.

 

* * *

 

**Chapter One**

The Great Hall seemed just as cheery and warm as it had been their first year at Hogwarts, with an air of hope and anticipation that filled the room as the new first years were sorted into their Houses. Though it was going to be their last year, the hope of a new generation joining their Houses made Harry Potter and the rest of Gryffindor clap as the happy new wizards and witches skipped their way to the long tables to take their seats. Each house welcomed the new students with pats on their backs and smiles, welcoming them into their folds.

The castle seemed the same, even more optimistic since it had been a long while since an incident had occurred that made anyone question the peace in the Wizarding world. The enchanted ceiling was mystical, lighting up the eyes of the first years as they gazed to the heavens, greeted by a beautiful skyscape of twinkling starlight. The normal buzzing of chatter and laughter filled the souls of the students, their teenage angst becoming more internalized over relationships, beauty standards, and grades than anything worldlier and suffocating—stolen glances over at crushes and giggling school girls were again the norm.

However, though everything seemed as if peace would be undying, those that had seen what might come were not as put at ease by how normal the rest of the student body appeared. Harry Potter still held his reservations, convinced that dark forces were still building and were ready to destroy the world of those around him. Though his beliefs that Voldemort was already working within Hogwarts did not come to fruition last year, he still felt that this was still the calm before the storm; something within him told him that it was simply luck and good timing that kept the war from breaking out last year and destroying his and everyone else's adolescence prematurely.

It would seem that these doubts also resonated within his friends, Ron and Hermione, as it appeared their cheer and optimism had waned a little. However, some of their attitude might have had to do with the fact that their experiment of a relationship did not go as planned, and they were both pretending the whole thing had never happened. The tension and awkwardness had made the trio more separate, Hermione specifically becoming more distant. As her maturity level increased with age, it didn't seem to match up with Ron's; as she grew and became a woman, her wisdom began to surpass most of those around her, almost isolating her.

When the war was postponed, life took over. More simple things became a priority for most. Harry and Ginny finally confessed their feelings, reveling in the time they would have together enjoying teenage love. Even with Harry's suspicion, his inability to pinpoint concrete evidence last year on Draco Malfoy's connection to the Dark Lord, even after the incident in the bathroom, made Harry step back and sometimes put his feelings of dread in the background if only to focus on teenage hormones and optimism. He regained some of his boyish flirtation and hopefulness, reserving his angst and fear for more private moments, mostly with his most trusted friends of Hermione and Ron. With these moments becoming less common, the trios' friendship was becoming less present in all of their lives. But each knew that they would always have each other in times of need, but it was nice for a little while to not feel that need all the time.

There was another person within the hundreds of students that seemed a little less than enthused and taken in by the bright lights and happy cheers: Draco Malfoy. In the isolation of last year, he had become more pensive, quiet, and calculating. Instead of taking every opportunity to stroke his ego, which had been known for, he often remained quiet, with his gray eyes always appearing to be deep in thought; the furrow in his brow was almost permanent as he seemed to scowl during every moment of his remaining time at Hogwarts. Unbeknownst to his classmates, behind his blond locks and gray eyes, he guarded a secret.

But as the last of the first year students were sorted into their Houses, there was one secret that was about to be revealed to the school. This secret created a sense of pride within Draco, a pride that brought out the cockiness that defined his character at Hogwarts. As Dumbledore stood up before the students and quieted them down, Draco knew his time to ham it up was approaching.

"Now that all the students have been sorted into their Houses, I would like to make one more announcement. I would like to announce the new position of Head Girl and Head Boy," Dumbledore exclaimed. His booming voice reverberated around the Hall as the students watched him in anticipation.

Hermione seemed to perk up in her seat, as she was bursting at the seams with the secret that she had been holding for the past two weeks. Though she had told Harry and Ron, since they would be furious if she hadn't, no one else knew the truth of her new appointment. Even though the teenage dream didn't hold as much resonance with her as it did with her classmates, her schoolwork and accolades still held priority in Hermione's mind, with her successes within Hogwarts still held in high regard. She beamed with pride, awaiting the announcement from the Headmaster.

"I would like to introduce you to our new Head Girl, from the House of Gryffindor," he exclaimed as Gryffindor erupted in cheers. "Hermione Granger!" his voice shouted as the cheers from all the Houses, except Slytherin, roared through the Great Hall.

While Hermione jumped up from her seat, similar to the time she jumped off the stool after the Sorting Hat named her to Gryffindor to many years ago, she made her way to the front of the Hall to stand next to Dumbledore with a smile on her face. Her pride was beaming as she took her place next to the revered Headmaster, and she looked out into the crowd of smiling and applauding classmates. However, out in the crowd, someone was not so pleased.

Draco sat in disbelief as Hermione's named was called, his heart sinking as all of his plans of privacy completely shattered as she made her way to the front of the Great Hall. He had expected some random Hufflepuff to be named that would stay out of his way at all costs, leaving him with as much privacy as possible. But with this announcement, all of his plans went out the window.

Dumbledore looked down on Hermione's beaming face, with a twinkle in his eyes as he put his hand on her shoulder before looking out into the Great Hall again.

"Next, I would like to introduce our new Head Boy, from the house of Slytherin," Dumbeledore exclaimed again as cheers erupted from only the Slytherin table. "Draco Malfoy!" Hermione's face instantly fell as her own dreams were shattered.

Harry and Ron fell hard into their seats, with a look of shock and disgust on their face as Draco stood up from the Slytherin table. He waved out towards the rest of the students as if he was a politician on his way to a speech. It was a rare moment in the last year where Draco appeared pleased as he hammed it up for the crowd.

"Malfoy!" Ron bellowed. "How the hell did he get Head Boy?!" Both Harry and Ron looked bewildered, which seemed to match Hermione's face as she stood next to the Headmaster as Draco took his position beside her.

"Through their great work at Hogwarts as students and role models–" Dumbledore began.

"Malfoy's a _role model_?!" Ron spat.

"–Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy have earned their positions as the Head of the Prefects and guides to all students. I am sure they will make this year great for all!" The Hall erupted in cheers. All of Slytherin and Gryffindor were standing and clapping, except for Harry and Ron, who were still too dumbfounded and filled with anger to compute etiquette.

As the cheering died down and the students started their dinners, Dumbledore made his way back to the professors' table, but was stopped before making it there.

"Professor," Hermione started after him. Her brow was furrowed in concern, and Draco's was now matching. Dumbledore turned around and peered at them as if they were strangers.

"Yes?" he said as if he didn't even know why they were standing there.

"I don't–" Hermione began, but was cut off by Draco.

"Was it really necessary to assign HER as Head Girl?" Draco interjected. Hermione's head snapped to glare at him.

"Me? I'm the one that actually _deserves_ the position!" she heatedly protested. Draco looked back at her with narrow eyes.

"Both of you," Dumbledore began, "received the right position," he said resolutely.

"Do you really think it's wise–" Hermione began again.

"–to taint such an honor by giving it to Granger?" Draco ended, again receiving a glare from Hermione.

Putting his hands on each of their shoulders, he began moving them towards the rest of the students. "My decision is based only on wisdom, so you'll have to trust me," he said cryptically, with a voice as if he was talking to children. His tone did not sit well with either Hermione or Draco.

"Now, please, complete your duties tonight and you can settle your differences in your quarters later. And I do not want to hear from Madame Pomfrey that either of you required medical attention. You both represent Hogwarts, so make sure you make a good impression for the rest of the students," Dumbledore explained. No sooner did his hands leave their shoulders was he already back at the table with the rest of the professors.

"Just stay out of my way," Draco hissed before quickly turning to return to the Slytherin table before Hermione had time to even react.

Hermione made her way back to the table where her classmates began to pat her on the back and congratulate her. She smiled at her classmates and accepted the praise with poise as she tried to push Draco's unpleasantness out of her mind and focus on the pride she felt. But as soon as she sat down she had that unpleasantness looking her right in the face.

"What did Dumbledore say?! How could he make Draco Head Boy?" Ron spat.

"Ronald," Hermione said as if talking to a pupil. "His appointment does not affect the honor of my appointment."

"How can you be so calm about this?" Harry asked with his anger and disgust apparent.

"I-I mean," Hermione said, displaying a little portion of how flustered she really felt, "Dumbledore made this decision, so we just have to trust he made the right one…" But even Hermione didn't believe her own words.

"What are you going to do?! You have to share quarters with him!" Ron bellowed. His eyes went wide at the alarming realization.

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself," Hermione said quickly. Her tone displayed a type of warning forher friends to drop the subject, especially as Hermione knew exactly where Ron’s thought had fallen.

"But a whole year?!" Harry hollered.

"It appears so," Hermione said resolutely as she ran her hands down her skirt in a nervous gesture. She straightened her spine to display even more faux confidence to her friends.

At this point, others started to join in and congratulate Hermione. Their conversation shuffled to the background as Ron and Harry sat dejectedly by as Hermione accepted the accolades of her classmates once more.

* * *

"Lucios Lemos," Hermione enunciated at the mural of a wealthy Victorian family having dinner, and as the door opened, the father extended his arm to greet her into the doorway of the new Head Boy and Girl Common Room. She had just finished taking the students back to their quarter for the night where she welcomed the first years to their dorms and explained the rules. She entered her new quarters and the flickering fire from the burning fireplace met her eyes as she walked through the darkened doorway. As soon as she walked into the room, her eyes drank in the beautiful Common Room. Though it was not much different than she was used to in the Gryffindor Common Room, the difference was that this time it was hers.

 _Well, not only mine,_ Hermione thought feeling her glee fade a little.

Pushing the thought aside, she walked into the room and took a look around. To her right was the large, ornate fireplace that had a great fire burning, which lit the room with an orange glow that flashed over all the cobblestone floors and walls—the Gryffindor and Slytherin banners lite up on the walls creating warmth and comfort in their colors (though more so the Gryffindor banner…) as they proudly displayed. In front of the fireplace were two full couches adjacent to each other with a matching loveseat between that faced the burning fire. In the middle was an ornate coffee table that had an embroidered scene of ancient magical learning sewn into it that looked old and historical and was protected by glass. On the other side of the room were two bookcases that were empty next to two desks—the Head Boy and Girl private study. Hermione spitefully wondered if Draco even had that many books to fill his side. Next, her eyes met with the staircase that led up to a landing that had two doors, one on each side. On the right was Hermione's room, indicated by the Gryffindor banner on it, and on the left was Draco's, also displaying a Slytherin banner. In the middle was an adjoining bathroom, which would of course be as ornate as some of the most beautiful bathrooms in the castle, but this one was private.

 _Well, semi-private._ Hermione sighed.

Finding her luggage, Hermione opened up the first one filled with all of her books and school accessories. Instead of using magic to put everything away, Hermione liked to do it the old fashioned way like she did when she was young on her first day of Muggle school as a young child. It reminded her of getting her binder, paper, and pens ready in her backpack as her mother told her not to be nervous.

_"I'm not nervous," her small voice said resolutely—just a girl of 7 years old and already displaying Gryffindor courage. Her mother smiled and ran her hand over the child's hair lovingly._

Hermione smiled at the memory as the smell of old books filled her senses as she began to take out the books and bring them over to her bookcase. She was going to enjoy these moments of silence while she could.

* * *

His long fingers were tangled in the girl's dark brown hair as he pressed her head down. Her hands gripped at his stomach as she continued to take his member into her mouth in the dark corridor near the Slytherin dorms. A small amount of sweat gleaned off his forehead as his brow furrowed in a sexual concentration.

Small moans came from the girl in service on her knees in front of him as she quickened her pace towards the end. Draco's let out a small grunt and gripped her hair tighter and stopped her quick movements as he climaxed into her awaiting mouth.

The girl pulled away and wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her Slytherin robes. She smiled up at him with a devious look in her eyes appearing to be proud that she had been of such good service to the prince of Slytherin.

Draco quickly buttoned up his trousers and tucked his shirt back in before reassembling his robes.

"That was great," the girl said as she stood up.

"Yeah, Tina," Draco said hurriedly as he pulled himself together.

The girls face dropped. "Tiana," she corrected, looking crestfallen.

"Right, right, Tiana," he said as he met her eyes this time for a brief moment. "It's late; you should get back to your dorm."

She looked at him incredulously, as she had never been blown off in such a manner before, especially with his seed still warm in her mouth. After he didn't react to her look, she decided to do what he said; she was worried he might insult her more by writing her up for being out after curfew. She slowly walked towards the Slytherin Common Room, and looked back once more to see if maybe he'd say something redeeming, but he was gone.

Draco made his way to Head Boy and Girl dorms, feeling a little more relaxed, though there was nothing in the world that could take what seemed to be permanent scowl off his face. Though he was known for his trademark look of disgust, he had become a little less theatric about it, as most of his fury displayed within his brow and gray eyes. It was the glint in his eyes that could reveal the truth to his look, from simply being pensive to being furious. In that moment, Draco actually forgot what he was walking into when he recited "Lucios Lemos" to the painting and walked in. "Mudblood," he spat when he caught sight of the Head Girl.

Hermione's curls whipped around her face as she looked up from her task in front of the half empty trunk. Her eyes slit with anger as she glared at him. "If we're going to be living together–" she began.

" _Living together_?! What? Do you think we're fucking married?!" he shouted.

"Wouldn't that be a nightmare!" she said standing up and putting her hands on her hips to show defiance.

"If you're going to _exist_ as Head Girl, let's get one thing straight–" he chewed out as his face contorted with disgust.

"Exist? Is that a threat?" she questioned, boldly.

"You should take anything I say as such, because I can't imagine there would any other reason I would speak to you," he said stepping forward, getting within only a foot from her face so she was able to feel his tall presence looming over her.

But Hermione was not impressed and glared up at him. "Like I said, if we're going to be living together," Draco scoffed and Hermione cleared her throat before continuing. "Fine! Occupying similar quarters…" she corrected receiving only a slight narrowing of his eyes in response. "Then we should at least try to be civil, like Dumbledore said."

"As I recall, he only wished Madame Pomfrey not to be involved," Draco retorted.

"Well, if you know what's good for you, then you'll do your best to not end up there." Hermione smirked back, turning on her heels, her curls almost whipping Draco in the face as she continued with her task.

"You threaten me?" he laughed coldly. "That's rich. The only power you possess comes from memorizing stupid books," he said as he kicked some books on the ground which made Hermione look and scowl at him. "There is nothing about you, _blood and all_ , that's even the least bit threatening."

From her squatting position on the ground, she looked at him with her eyes narrowed into a glare. "Well, it seems books have gotten me this far, haven't they? I am, after all, your EQUAL now," she said gesturing to their shared Head Boy and Girl quarters.

Draco's eyes almost bulged out of his head at the word. "My EQUAL?!" he bellowed and began to laugh almost heartily. Suddenly, he squatted down and placed his face mere inches from hers. "You'll never be my equal," he said coldly in a low, dangerous voice, with his gray eyes piercing into her. He then stood up and went up the stairs into his room, and slammed the door behind him.

* * *

 

"So, how did it go?" Ginny asked. She leaned towards the conversation as she sat next to Harry in the Great Hall at breakfast the next morning. Harry and Ron looked not so please with the subject.

"Well, neither of us ended up needing Madame Pomfrey," Hermione said calmly as she took a bite of some toast.

Ron nearly jumped out of his seat at the idea that Malfoy would put a hand on Hermione. "If he ever touched you, I'd–!"

"Ronald," Hermione stopped him, putting her hand on his arm to calm him. "Stop!" she chastised his anger. "I can take care of myself."

"That's not what we're worried about, Hermione," Harry interjected.

"You too?" Hermione scolded.

Ginny elbowed Harry a little bit and leaned farther over Harry, as if to only speak to Hermione. "I believe you, Hermione. You'll be fine," the ginger girl smiled, resting her hand on Hermione's forearm for a moment of reassurance.

"Thanks, Ginny," Hermione smiled. "Besides, with classes, studying, and Head Girl duty, I'm sure I'll hardly even have to interact with him."

"Right!" Ginny smiled. The boys didn't seem too convinced.

* * *

After breakfast, Hermione was heading to the library to greet Madam Pince for the first of the year, as it was her duty to be cordial, when Harry caught up with her.

"Hermione!" Harry shouted in the court yard. Hermione turned around when she heard her friend approaching.

"Harry, what is it?" she asked, slightly exasperatedly.

"It's just…" he began, appearing unsure of himself.

"Yes?" Hermione prodded leaning in closer to try and get him to spit it out so she could go about her day.

"Be careful with Malfoy," he finally said.

Hermione sighed. "There's nothing–"

"You don't know that!" Harry protested. "Look, I know nothing happened last year–" Harry began.

"Except you nearly killing him in the boy's bathroom?" Hermione quipped. Harry sighed at her characterization of the incidence.

"There was more going on there, something wasn't right," he weakly explained.

"Oh, that's a good reason to nearly kill someone," Hermione fired back.

"That wasn't exactly my intention…" Harry sighed.

"Look, Harry. I know what you think about him. But it didn't happen; nothing happened that you thought would. At some point you just have to let it go," Hermione said as she turned to leave. Harry grabbed her wrist and she turned around.

"I can't just let it go, Hermione," he said earnestly.

"You're going to have to; there is nothing to substantiate your worry. Yes, he's a complete arse and he's going to be insufferable the whole way through, but that doesn't mean he's actually a threat, nor does it mean he is working with…" she paused. "Voldemort," she finally said in a hushed tone, as her eyes darted around as if to make sure no one actually heard her say his name.

"But there's no proof he's not either," Harry countered.

Hermione pulled her arm away from Harry a little too harshly and seemed to try and compose herself, as if washing away whatever _his_ name left behind. Her eyes met with Harry's green eyes again, softer this time.

"Maybe we are as safe as everyone is pretending we are. Maybe for now we can just…be. And if not, we don't need to fix the world's problems at this very second. We just got back to school; I haven't even been to the library yet! Can we at least settle just a little bit before we start worrying so much? It's possible he's just an annoyance—a very big annoyance. Maybe he's just nothing but that." Her voice sounded like she was pleading, almost like a child. Harry's face softened and the words seemed to sink in and he slowly nodded his head. For now, he'd let it go and let their adolescence rue the day again for a while. Hermione offered a small smile and turned around again to head to the library. Harry stood and watched his friend make her way into the world, alone, and again with her rationale that maybe everything is fine.

But deep down Hermione wasn't as naïve as she wanted to be.

* * *

"Didn't you think it would be a little hard for me to continue on like this with her around?!" Draco shouted as he paced back and forth in Snape's office.

Snape sat stoically at his desk, with his long fingers folded into each other on the tabletop.

"It was the Headmaster's decision," Snape said slowly, his face blank.

"So you didn't think to try and talk him out of it?" Draco shot back. He looked flustered and concerned, his face displaying more emotion than most saw.

"Don't you think that would have been a little suspicious?" Snape again said slowly, his voice even and unfaltering.

"Who cares?! Now I have to deal with Miss Know-It-All around me every day! How the fuck am I going to keep her from knowing–" Draco fumed.

Suddenly Snape was standing up and his face near Draco's, his presence and stare pushing Draco into the chair across from Snape's desk. Draco looked startled by the power Snape exuded.

"You will do what you have always done and keep a low profile and not give the game away," Snape said in a loud, domineering voice as his underlying threats pushed Draco deep into the chair. "Our lives depend on it." Snape kept his face near Draco's for a few more moments before swiftly turning around and going over to his shelves of potions that he began to rummage through.

Draco sat up in his seat and squared his shoulders again, finding it annoying how much intimidation Snape could muster still upon him.

"She's going to ask questions," Draco finally said.

"Well, you don't answer them…" Snape replied calmly.

"What if it happens when–" Snape again spun around to glare at him.

"You remember your training and don't let it get out of hand!" he bellowed, as his voice reverberated off the stone walls of his office. In his hand was a black potion in a small vial that had no markings on it to suggest its contents.

"This..." Snape presented. "This should help," he said handing the vial to Draco. Snape's eyes suddenly narrowed. "For when things get out of hand," he said lowly.

Draco peered into the vial at the black contents, a slight look of disgust on his face. Snape went back to his desk to sit down and began working on some paperwork signally the end of their meeting. Draco stood up and slipped the vial into his pocket and began for the door.

"And Draco," came Snape's slow voice from his desk. Draco looked back at his teacher who didn’t even look up at him in return. "Just ignore her."

Draco turned to leave and opened the door. "Easier said than done…" he mumbled as he left.

 

* * *

 

It was getting late, and Madame Pince was even yawning into her book as she read at her desk. Hermione sat near a window at the desk she had made hers since the beginning of her time at Hogwarts. In front of her was a book on history as she tried to find any clues towards their quest for Voldemort. However, in truth she had no idea what she was really looking for, but Hermione believed that general knowledge could later make the difference between life and death if needed.

So while her friends were enjoying the first weekend before classes began, Harry with Ginny, Ron with…whoever, Hermione made the books her friends. She didn't want to be the third wheel, or in many cases, the fifth. Though Harry talked a big game about his suspicions and worry about the possible impending war, it was rare he actually put in the leg work to prove or research anything, which then, of course, fell to Hermione to fill in the gaps when a mystery presented itself. But it was a good excuse to steal away at least—away from the love story that wasn't hers of Harry and Ginny, from the awkwardness of Ron and their failed relationship, and from the general musing of teenage angst that personified her peers. Somewhere along the way, Hermione grew past them, and she longed for more.  
 Her hazel eyes fell to the candle blinking steadily in front of her, which lit up the ancient books she devoured—that smell again: old books, parchment, burning candles, musty stones. Hogwarts was still like a childhood dream of medieval fantasies to her, and these lonely moments were always filled with enchantment, even now in her 7th year at Hogwarts. A wistful smile came across her lips as she pushed a curl to the side that fell as she leaned over to continue reading. Maybe this year would be different.

It was far too late for regular students to be out wandering, and Hermione relished in the power she had to do pretty much anything she wanted as she wandered the corridors towards her quarters. A couple curious prefects on their rounds shoved their lit wands in her face before knowing it was her, but for the most part she was alone. _Free._

"Lucios lemos," she said soflty when she came to the mural and walked in with a smile on her face. Unfortunately, it didn't last.

Hermione stopped in her tracks as she walked into a site of Draco sucking face on the couch with some 6th year from Slytherin. As soon as he heard the painting squeal open, he sat up off the girl and looked towards the door.

"Bloody hell," he groaned breathlessly. The girl below him sat up quickly and sneered at Hermione.

"Couldn't you just fuck off somewhere?" he said exasperatedly, already annoyed with her existence.

"These are my quarters–" Hermione began.

" _My_ quarters. You're just a nuisance," Draco corrected. He got off the girl and sat on the couch as he rubbed hands into his face further displaying his annoyance.

There was a long pause and Hermione locked eyes with the girl whose cleavage was already spilling out of her shirt where it had been unbuttoned. Hermione felt a little rouge rise to her cheeks as she looked away from her.

"It's late—too late for _her_ to be out of the dorms," Hermione said in a matter-of-fact tone, as her lips curled up in a slightly disgusted sneer—he was already tainting the furniture she would probably spend many nights studying on.

Draco rubbed his eyes and sighed. He looked at Hermione and then turned to the girl. "Go," he demanded at the girl as he pointed towards the door. She looked startled by the command. "Go!" he said again louder, and the girl immediately jumped up from her seat and grabbed her things on the table before scampering out the door.

 _That was easy…_ Hermione thought as she girl ran past her, though the feminist in her didn't like the way he almost treated the girl like a dog.

"You have them trained well," Hermione said mockingly.

"Well, you've got to know how to deal with _bitches_ ," he said in a mimicking tone just to aggravate her.

 Hermione walked over to the bookshelf and started putting her books away with her back to Draco. "Please don't refer to women as bitches," she said again with disgust, "because really if anyone is a dog, it's you."

"I wouldn't be trying to assert who the _dog_ is in this scenario, Mudblood," he bit back as he stood up and smoothed out his clothing that had become loose from his actions with the 6th year.

That word again. It stung, and it stopped her in her movements for a moment, but then she continued on as if that word didn't pass his lips.

"Well, not only are you an arse, but a real misogynist too," she mumbled to herself as she put her last book back and turned around.

"Look, _Granger_ ," he said emphasizing her name as to get her attention since she didn't respond to his insults. "I'm not going to play _house_ with you as if you're some jealous housewife."

"Jealous housewife?!" Hermione exclaimed in incredulity. "Believe me, I do not care what you do in your personal life, just don't bring it back here and slather it all over my furniture!"

"Again, with this possession bullshit. This is not yours!" he said lifting the pillow. "Get it out of your head that somehow this place is some fantastical land full of magical and beautiful possessions! It's just stuff! The Ministry made it clear that nothing really magical can exist in this world anyways!" he said with a huff as he threw the pillow on the couch. "So just like stuff, I will use it in whatever way it's used for. In this case, to fuck on," he boldly spat.

"Disgusting!" Hermione exclaimed, mortified.

"Oh, did I offend the chaste little Gryffindor?" he mocked. "Come down to Slytherin and you'll see what the real adult world is like, and it's nothing like this fake little daydream you've created that romanticizes even a goddamn pillow!"

"I don't think I'd want to subject myself to such depravity. I have standards," she sneered turning her head and peering at him, her arms crossed over her chest.

" _Standards_!" he laughed as he walked over her to her. "I don't want to hear about having standards from someone who fucked a Weasley!"

Hermione's mouth went agape with shock as she turned towards him completely. "How dare you–" she began to exclaim.

"Oh no, didn't think anyone knew about you two? It's disgusting. Though really, what could I expect from a Mudblood? As if any _real_ pure blood would ever fuck you!" he spat.

Hermione didn't expect such cruelness from him, and she hated herself for not expecting it. His words made her feel self-conscious and low, feeling for the first time in a while that she was below him. This time, however, it wasn't the fact that he called her a Mudblood—no, she'd heard that word hundreds of times before from him—but his question of her desirability hurt her as a woman, and for a moment she was speechless.

Draco saw the sudden hurt in her eyes, and he had a visceral reaction he wasn't expecting. His face went a little softer for a moment as he felt a little regret for his words as it appeared he might have gone too far. But then Draco remembered Snape's words, and he turned away from her and headed towards his room before Hermione could compose herself in order to respond.

"I told you to stay out of my way," he hissed, demonstrating some sort of anger at the entire situation itself as he quickly made it up the stairs. His door again slammed behind him, and the noise made Hermione jump a little.

As soon as he was gone, Hermione let out a long breath—she had been holding her breath and she didn't even know it. She stood there for a moment, thousands of words tumbling through her brain as she tried to digest his insults and throw them out as useless. Though she couldn't deny they hurt, she still brushed her hair aside, flipping it over her shoulder as it if was some metaphor for leaving it all behind her.

She didn't care what he said. This world was still full of magic, and Hermione was just as deserving as anyone…for anything.

 

* * *

 

 

**Story Note:**

"Summary" Writer: Free_Buckbeak.


	2. Chapter Two

The first week of school was like any other week—the students that loved the first day of school remembered why they hated the second and the students that hated the first day of school remembered why. And then there was Hermione that actually relished in it all. The first day of school reminded her of being young and optimistic; the new parchment, unused quills, and unopened books felt like they could reveal a new world to her. It was probably one of her favorite times of the year, and this year was even more special—it was her last year.

The idea of not being at Hogwarts next year tugged at her mind. For the past 7 years, her life had been consumed by Hogwarts—her learning, her friends, …her enemies. To leave Hogwarts seemed like she would be starting over. Would the first day of that new future feel the same as today?

Hermione pushed the thought to the back of her mind as she sat in the middle of the courtyard after classes with some books strewn about. She opened up her Potions books and began to read over tomorrow’s chapter. The sun shone down making her auburn curls shimmer in the light, and the warmth filled her with calm. The summer was not yet over, but the air smelled of autumn already. With her legs outstretched, she felt the hot sun on the exposed skin on her legs, with her school uniform skirt lying just over the top of her knees. It was a beautiful day.

“Hello, Hermione,” said a soft, high-pitched voice from above her. Hermione looked up catching the young, blond witch’s blue eyes.

“Luna.” Hermione smiled at her, as she shielded her squinted eyes from the glare of the sun just above the blond witches head.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” Luna asked, her head tilting innocently. Hermione shook her head as she smiled and gestured to the spot next to her welcoming Luna to sit. Luna sat down, crossed her legs, and set her bag next to her. She then opened her bag and took out some leftover snacks she had stolen away and started to munch on them.

“Beautiful day,” Luna commented, as she looked up at the blue sky above, her pale features drinking in the sunlight.

“Indeed.” Hermione sighed and closed her eyes as she postured up towards the sun. The red glare filled her pupils from behind her eyelids.

“I’m going to miss this,” Luna said wistfully.

“Miss what?” Hermione asked, opening her eyes to look at her.

“Sitting out here with you, of course. You know, next year,” Luna explained.

“Oh.” Hermione sighed. “Me too.”

“But it’s only the beginning of the year. We’ll have many months ahead of us to enjoy,” Luna said optimistically.

“Though, maybe not as good as days as this,” Hermione said.

“Every day is good if you make it that way,” Luna said, her surprising wisdom somehow always present.

“I’ll try to remember that.” Hermione smiled—she was always happy with her conversations with Luna.

They sat there in silence for a little while, both basking in the sun, and then Luna’s voice broke the silence again. “So, how are you?” she asked.

Hermione peered over at her friend. That was the million Galleon question that pretty much everyone was wondering, and really only because Harry and Ron made her ordeal seem so dramatic. “Oh, well, you know…” Hermione trailed off, trying to get out of the subject.

“I do?” Luna asked innocently, not understanding the parlance.

Hermione laughed a little at Luna’s innocence and looked at the girl again, feeling her walls drop down a little. “Well, I try not to go back to my room if that means anything.”

“Oh dear,” Luna said softly. “Why not?”

“Well, let’s just say we should probably get the furniture cleaned,” Hermione said as she grimaced.

“Oh, but everything does clean itself, you know,” Luna chimed in, glossing over why it needed to be cleaned.

Hermione laughed at her matter-of-fact attitude. “Okay, well maybe there just isn’t anything to wash my eyes then!”

“I read somewhere about something that–” Luna began.

“Luna, I was kidding!” Hermione laughed.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you really laugh all week.” Luna smiled a big toothy grin.

“I think I needed that. Thanks, Luna.” The friends smiled at each other.

“But other than that, how else has it been?” Luna pressed. Hermione’s smile fell a bit.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” she quickly said, closing her eyes again and turning her face towards the sun in the sky.

Though it was true Hermione could handle it, it didn’t mean it wasn’t already taxing. She had already begun to lose sleep by coming back to the dorms so late so she didn’t have to deal with Draco. The times she did come back, he had immediately picked a fight or he was with another girl. Luckily, Hermione had yet to come upon him in any real compromising positions. Yet, she thought, grimacing.

“Is he different?” Luna suddenly asked.

Hermione opened her eyes and gave a quizzical look towards the 6th year. “What do you mean?”

“Is he any different than you expected?” Luna clarified, her head tilting innocently again.

Hermione sat and thought for a moment. “I guess not.”

“Well good; at least you’re not disappointed.” Luna’s logic was staggering.

“I guess not.” Hermione laughed a little, though she was a little puzzled how Luna made everything seem to so positive.

 

* * *

 

As he sat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, Draco seemed lost in thought as his gray eyes intensely looked off into nothing. Chatter continued on around him—those that knew him use to his silences.

“I still can’t believe that filthy Mudblood got Head Girl,” Pansy spat, her disgust evident in her voice. Over across the Hall she saw the girl of subject sitting silently with her friends reading a book—Hermione. “I can’t believe Draco has to put up with that filth all the time,” she continued.

“Well, maybe he’s getting more out of her than we know,” Blaise said as he elbowed Draco jokingly.

“Right, like he’d fuck a Mudblood,” Pansy said with even more disgust.

“Why not?” Blaise laughed. “Pussy is pussy, man.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Draco suddenly interjected, though his far-off look did not change from his face. Suddenly, he stood up and without saying another word he left the Hall, leaving his friends to watch him incredulously; however, it wasn’t clear if they were reacting to his words or the fact that he spoke at all.

Something about the way they objectified Hermione—basically anatomizing her—made him squeamish, though he wasn’t sure why. He chalked it up to the idea of even imagining her in those terms made him sick, or least that’s what he told himself.

He found himself alone in the corridors—too early into dinner for most to be finished and too late for any first years to be running clumsily in after getting lost. But as Head Boy that wasn’t any of his worry at the moment—most of the prefects did all the grunt work so he didn’t have to subject himself to late nights of walking the halls looking for curfew breakers but once a week.

Draco found a window looking into the courtyard with a bench in front of it that allowed him to look out into the sunset sky. He felt a sudden chill go over him, and thought maybe the summer night was already turning to autumn.

Then it felt as if lightning had struck him. His vision suddenly lit up and his head felt as if it was splitting in two. He grabbed onto the windowsill and let out a muffled cry as his body seemed to uncontrollably tense. The spasm continued when suddenly he felt a hand upon his arm, which ripped him back to reality. As his vision and hearing came back, they came in waves: hazel eyes; autumn curls; perfect skin.

“Malfoy!” His name sounded muffled in his mind, and confusion exuded out of his gray pools of eyes. “Malfoy!” Suddenly the voice was louder as she shook his shoulder.

Coming to, the full vision of the person before him came in sight: Hermione Granger. Draco quickly snatched his arm away from her. “What, what?!” he wailed as he pulled away.

“What the hell just happened to you?” Hermione asked with her face full of what appeared to be concern.

Draco quickly got up and backed away from her, with the same seemingly disgusted look on his face that she was used to, though with a tinge of what appeared to be shock. “Nothing! Nothing…!” he trailed off as he turned around and headed quickly away leaving a very confused Hermione behind.

Hermione sat there watching him leave, with a look of confusion and concern on her face. When she happened upon him as she left the Great Hall, he seemed to convulse and whine in such a way that she had no option but to see if he was okay. When she saw him, all of her reservations about who he was left her and she was compelled to grab him and shake him back from wherever he had gone. The look in his eyes was nothing she had ever seen before, and it left her confused and wondering.

Looking out the window, she wondered if she should tell Harry about it. The thought quickly left her as she knew he’d blow it out of proportion and think Draco was being possessed or something crazy. Hermione shook her head and picked up her book, looking at its cover as she wondered if she should return to her dorm tonight. Then, a feeling of concern outweighed her apprehension she had felt that week and she decided to return—just in case. _Just in case what?_ She asked herself, but she couldn’t answer that question.

* * *

His pallid skin seemed even cold in his own reflection as it stared back at him in the mirror. His gray eyes were round and almost pleading with his reflection—expecting, waiting, and nothing. A few silent minutes went by before suddenly he lunged for the toilet, and he vomited the small dinner he had just had.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered as he wiped his hand across his lips. He stood and flushed the toilet and made his way back to the mirror—his reflection even sicker and more pathetic than before. “Fucking tosser,” he said to himself as he turned on the faucet and scooped some water into his mouth before spitting it out.

He left his reflection, grabbed a nearby towel and rubbed it over his entire face to rid himself of the cold sweat that had collected. His thoughts went to what had happened earlier.

Maybe he was sick? Maybe he should see Madame Pomfrey? He let out a chuckle at the thought and shook his head knowing full well that would be the last thing he would do. _Should I tell Snape?_ he asked himself. _No…_ he said to himself, remembering the first time he brought such a story to his mentor. He remembered the encounter vividly…

_“You have to be sure!” Snape yelled in his face with Draco cornered against a wall. “You can’t just throw such an accusation around like that! You have to be sure, Draco!” he yelled again. “I-I don’t know!” Draco called out. Snape’s wand was suddenly against his throat. “I just saved your life from Potter and now you tell me this! I made the Unbreakable Vow, Draco!”_

Draco threw the towel in the corner of the bathroom after washing his hands as if washing the memory away from his mind. He left his reflection with one last sigh before returning to his room, then out the door, down the stairs, and into the Common Room. He heavily sat down on the couch, quickly stretching out his legs—his body long enough that he had to set his feet far over the opposite arm rest. He folded his fingers over his chest and closed his eyes—he could still feel his heart racing.

Some time passed and Draco felt himself calming—his breaths becoming even and heart steady. Then suddenly, he heard a voice near the door.

“Ar-Are you okay, Malfoy?” Hermione’s voice faltered. Draco sighed, obviously not shocked by the voice at all.

“Why do you care?” Draco said as he forgot to not engage her. He should have told her to fuck off.

“I mean, you seemed…like you needed…medical attention. Should I get Madame Pomfrey?” Hermione ventured, taking a few steps in as she wondered where any of her concern came from. _I’m just a good person_ , she told herself.

Draco let out a laugh. “That hag! Man, I’d rather have you take care of me.” That came out not how he had meant it to and he opened his eyes to take in her reaction; she still only gave the same tentative and perplexed look she had before. “I mean,” he said as he sat up, “She’s as useless as pumpkin juice,” he finally said with not much gusto behind it. He seemed exhausted—too exhausted to even show contempt as usual.

Hermione realized she had never seen this side of him before. He seemed worn out, broken down, and too tired to fight anymore, and she wasn’t sure if it sat well with her. “Okay,” she finally said awkwardly. Never had she been left in silence with him before—the air was usually full of insults and someone storming out. “Do you want me to leave you alone?” Hermione finally asked. As soon as she said it she regretted it, as she felt as if she gave him the power over their quarters that she had allowed him to have the past weeks.

“No,” he said almost softly. “I’ll go.” With that Draco stood up and calmly walked to his room—his steps a little tired and clumsy. His door, for the first time, closed with little sound leaving Hermione the Common Room all to herself.

She was left wondering as she sat down on the couch in front of the fire if this is what Luna meant by “different”.

 

* * *

 

The brief peace didn’t last between Hermione and Draco. The next day was a Sunday and it was the night the Head Boy and Head Girl do their rounds in the castle. They ventured out alone and were going to circle back to confirm each completed their assigned route, though they both found it completely insulting they had to be somehow watching the other. Unfortunately, Dumbledore had insisted. Of course, they each thought it was due to the other’s utter incompetence, so no feelings were actually hurt.

Around midnight, Hermione came upon some sounds in a corridor on a bottom floor near Slytherin. Rounding a corner she happened upon two 5th year Slytherins making out.

“Excuse me,” Hermione interrupted, her lit wand pointed into their connected faces. They both turned their heads to look at her, their eyes squinting from the light.

“You mind getting that fucking light out of my face?” the boy asked—his deep Scottish accent more manly than his years.

“Excuse me?” Hermione said again, this time the inflection in her words displaying she had a problem with what he had said.

“You heard what I said; get that fucking thing out of my face!” he hollered, suddenly slapping the wand away.

Hermione backed up and regained a defensive stance, keeping her lit wand pointed towards the couple. “Don’t you dare touch my wand! Do you know who I am?” she asked dubiously.

“Of course we do, you dumb bitch,” the boy continued. He had a look in his eyes that somehow scared Hermione—he looked unhinged.

Hermione tried to regain her composure as she was not used to walking into situations of pure hostility towards her, even in her interactions with Draco. She cleared her throat and then began to matter-of-factly speak—something she was obviously good at. “You’re out after curfew. I was going to just let you off with a warning, but because of your attitude, I’m going to have to write you up and you’ll be serving detention.”

“Oh, what does it matter? It’s not like I’m going to listen to some Mudblood whore!” he shouted as he began moving towards her. Suddenly the smell of alcohol filled Hermione’s nostrils as he barked at her.

“Oh, God, you’re drunk,” she said with disgust as she covered her hand over her nose to try and protect herself from the stench.

The entire time the girl involved seemed too disoriented to even respond, with her smeared make-up making her appear older; she simply stood there and seemed to wave from side-to-side every once in a while without out the boy balancing her.

“So what? What are you going to do about it you bloody–”

Suddenly, he pulled his wand out and was pointing it at Hermione, but before she had time to respond or he had time to finish his sentence, the boy was pinned up against the wall and the Slytherin girl was thrown on the floor.

Draco’s gray eyes were flashing murder with his hand gripped around the boy’s neck. The boy let out a muffled yell as his back slammed against the wall. “You dare pull your wand out on US?!” Draco screamed in the boy’s face.

“I-I didn’t know it was you, Draco,” the boy almost squealed out.

“Don’t say my name, filth,” Draco hissed.

Instantly, Draco threw the boy hard to the ground away from them. “Get out of my sight, you fucking dog! You’ll be doing lines in detention for months for this!” he yelled as both the boy and girl kicked their legs to get farther away from Draco’s intimidating form.

“Yes, yes sir!” the boy called, as his unusually masculine and sinister voice turned to that of a whiny little boy. He got up and ran towards the dorms and left the girl behind as she took a few moments to get her bearings before doing the same.

“Bloody children,” Draco muttered to himself as he saw them go. Before Hermione had a chance to say anything, Draco spun around, his face looming above her as his eyes flashed. “I thought you were qualified for this job?!” he hissed.

“I-I,” Hermione stuttered. “I am! Not everything requires violence!” she defended, thrown off guard by the amount of aggression he showed towards her.

“He would have hurt you,” he yelled in her face, his hot breath snapping at her curls; the force of his anger made her look down.

“I can take care of myself, Malfoy.” Words she had been saying a lot lately.

“Obviously,” he sneered sarcastically as he backed away from her—her response to his aggression made him falter.

“You believe the best in everyone, don’t you?” he finally said, the harshness in his voice lessened, but still typical of their spats. “He was drunk! He could have killed you.”

“Well, most of us don’t encounter those so ready to kill us, now do we?” Hermione retorted, looking up at him.

“Then consider yourself lucky. At least Potter would know better,” he said darkly. Hermione’s brow furrowed a little as Draco admitted more than he meant to, and of all things possibly complimented Harry.

“If you actually think yourself ready for this world you should learn to defend yourself better, and to be ready for others to harm you,” he said quickly, almost as if to wash over his last statement.

“It’s hard to imagine within these walls, and students, I have much to worry about,” Hermione defended.

“That’s probably not what you thought when that Basilisk found you,” he bit out.

Hermione seemed stunned at his recollection. If he said it with more rue she would have suspected he meant to bring it up as a way to display his pleasure in her fate, but his emotions didn’t seem to portray as such. If Hermione didn’t know any better, the words—or even the memory—were displeasing to him.

They sat there for a moment in silence, and then Hermione spoke. “You’re right. I should be more on guard. Anything could happen,” she admitted soundly, nodding her head.

The fact that Hermione agreed with him left them in another unknowing empty silence and made Draco feel uneasy. To remedy the situation, he turned around to leave and stalked off into the darkness.

“And they say she’s capable,” he muttered as he went, his words only slightly meeting Hermione’s ears.

 

* * *

 

Some days later, Draco returned late to their quarters—way later than any prefects would even be on rounds to see him. “Lucios lemos,” he whispered to the painting, and the door swung open. As he walked in he saw Hermione sleeping on the couch, wrapped in a blanket with a book open, the fire embers only but lighting her form. The squeak of the door closing seemed to jar her awake, her body slightly jumping at the sound.

Her hazel eyes opened sleepily and peered at the figure that entered. “Malfoy,” she said tiredly. “What time is it?” she asked softly, rubbing her eyes.

“I’m not going to explain to _you_ where I’ve been, Granger,” he defensively shot.

His statement made Hermione wake up a bit more, sitting up in her seat in an attentive position as she cleared her eyes to look at him. “I didn’t ask,” she said, her brow furrowing in confusion as she questioned why he jumped to the defensive so quickly.

It was then that Draco realized his mistake of jumping ahead in the chess game of their conversation a few turns. “Because you won’t ask; who the hell are you to ask me any questions, Mudblood?” he spat in anger, trying to cover up his mistake. “Sod off,” he said, waving his hand dismissively at her as he bounded his way up the stairs into his room, slamming the door behind him.

She wasn’t sure if it was just that it was late or if that interaction with Draco had really been as confusing as it felt. Hermione snuggled down into her blanket again and looked into the fire, as her brow furrowed. The past week had been interesting to say the least. Then, Hermione wondered, W _here had he been?_

 

* * *

 

Harry’s mind was somewhere else, and Ginny could tell. Even though they were snogging, Harry’s attention was diverted.

“Is something wrong?” Ginny asked as she broke their kiss to look at him. They were lying under a tree on the grounds, as the gray skies above threatened rain; one would think there would be tons of place to snog inside the castle, but most of them either provided little privacy or comfort.

“No, no nothing’s wrong,” he said smiling, and moved in to kiss her again, but she pushed him away and sat up.

“There’s no point in hiding it, Harry,” she said smiling. “You’re awful at hiding things.”

Harry sat up next to her and sighed as he brought his knees up near his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He looked out onto the grounds. “It just doesn’t feel right,” he said finally.

“With us?” Ginny said with an inflection in her voice showing some hurt.

“No, no!” he quickly said, turning to his girlfriend and putting his arm around her. “Of course not!”

“Then with what?” Ginny asked.

“Hermione,” he said resolutely.

“Oh,” she said crestfallen.

“Well, not her per se—the whole Malfoy thing,” he clarified.

“I thought you were giving that up,” she asked.

“Well, I did. It’s been a few weeks,” he said sheepishly. Ginny playfully hit his shoulder, his body mass swinging slightly before he came back and enveloped her shoulders in his arms.

“I know, I know. ‘Everything’s fine’, ‘She can take care of herself,’ blah blah blah.” Harry said as Ginny laughed, and then they were both silent.

“Something just doesn’t feel right,” Harry murmured again, looking out into the grounds, his green eyes narrowed in a type of mysterious suspicion. “And it feels almost different from last year. I even more so feel like there is something incredibly, viscerally wrong with him.”

“Harry,” Ginny began. She sighed and brought her fingers to her boyfriend’s chin and turned his face towards hers. “Nothing has happened for a long time. If he is somehow connected to…him, nothing’s happened yet. And who is to say anything will! For all we know...he…lost his power somehow. Maybe in the pursuit of those magical items the Ministry did away with somehow they destroyed him.”

“Fat chance,” Harry snorted as he pulled his face from her fingers to look out again.

More resolutely in her stance, Ginny straightened up and looked at him seriously. “Well, no matter the reality, the Order has yet to give us any more information, and as far as we know our job is to just learn—to be better witches and wizards—and maybe even enjoy the last years of our time here, if we can.”

Harry looked thoughtfully at his girlfriend—her beautiful brown eyes filled with what he liked to think of as love. “You’re right, Ginny. I’m sorry.” He smiled and kissed his girlfriend on her forehead, and held her close as the autumn winds took hold of the Hogwarts grounds.

 

* * *

 

Another week went by: classes; homework; leaves falling; cold air briskly filtering through the castle; and creatively risqué apparel all beginning to disappear and be replaced with jumpers. Draco tried to not encounter Hermione again, worried she might ask questions. _Just like I thought she would_ , Draco thought as he clenched his jaw tight remembering his conversation with Snape. It wasn’t until Wednesday night did he see her again.

Draco was late again. The clock had just struck 12:30am, and his body felt as if he was on his 100th hour. He felt completely drained—physically and emotionally. His head felt like it was beginning to split open again, and the cold sweat gathered on his brow and his upper lip. He entered their quarters expecting nothing but silence, but instead he encountered a nightmare.

In front of him was Hermione Granger, spry in her movements as she seemed to organize her things in the Common Room, with deranged Muggle music coming out of a small contraption on her desk.

“For fuck sakes!” he yelled over the music, pinching the skin between his eyes before rubbing them closed as if the sight itself hurt his eyes.

“Ahh!” Hermione screamed, spinning around on her heel. She was dressed in some pajamas, her hair up in a ponytail. She wouldn’t admit it, but her seasonal blues were beginning to set in as the world seemed to die outside, and her isolation she had created for herself from her friends weighing on her. In a need to cheer up, she brought out her music and let her obsessive compulsive behavior feel quenched by the need to clean, even if it was silly in a world of magic.

“Malfoy, you scared me,” she said loudly over the music before moving her finger across the dial on the Muggle contraption that made the music go low.

Draco took a deep breath in and opened his eyes to look at her. For a moment, he was intrigued by her look—her level of casualness was not something he saw every day and he felt like it suited her—but then he remembered the splitting headache he was sporting and the anger rose in him, as he felt the need to take it out on someone; after all, it had been a while since they had a spat. “Do the world some good and fucking knock yourself out, we all need a break from you,” he spat angrily.

“Who spit in your porridge, Malfoy?” Hermione shot back, her brow furrowed and lip curled in sudden defensiveness at his attitude.

“With your bloody weak analogies…” he breathed out, appearing to be put off by anything she said. “I told you to stay out of my way, and here you are—of course—right in my goddamn face when I come in through the door.”

“Well, _sorry_ ,” she said sarcastically. “Since you didn’t come back hours ago I figured you were actually sleeping already!”

“So you thought playing that Muggle shit was going to keep me happy if I was up there!” he yelled back, pointing towards his bedroom up the stairs.

“I put a Silencing Charm on the room!” she defended.

“Ah, well good for you, you know how to use 2nd year magic,” he mocked.

“Why are you picking a fight, Malfoy?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips.

“Your very _existence_ angers me,” he hissed at her. He stepped towards her and peered down at her. “First, you ruin my honor of Head Boy–”

“No, that was YOU ruining MY honor of Head Girl. Like you actually _deserve_ such an honor in the first place!” she said sarcastically. “Your father probably bought your way in, like he always does.”

“Don’t you dare talk about my father, you filthy little Mudblood,” Draco warned, his voice suddenly becoming dangerous.

But Hermione did not heed his warning and continued, losing her tact at such a late hour. “Oh, I forgot, he’s in Azkaban!” she spat back. Hermione couldn’t even believe the words that left her mouth, and before she knew it she was pressed up against the wall, Draco’s body hard against hers, his hand resting on her neck, though somehow it seemed soft.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game with a _very_ dangerous person,” he seethed from between clenched teeth, their faces mere inches apart.

Hermione was pinned—in a more vulnerable position than she could remember herself ever being in. She could see malice in Draco’s eyes, and she was unsure if he could even be reasoned with at this point. Her heart quickened in her chest, and she felt herself weaken in his grasp. If it weren’t for the fear she was feeling, she would analyze the proximity of their bodies as a sign of sensuality, but his hand at her throat made her reject the entire concept.

Within Draco, her words of his father brought a surge or energy and anger that quickened his limbs and suppressed the pain within his head. He found himself lunging for her, though with less aggression than he usually showed to an opponent—she was, after all, a woman and even Slytherins had a sense of chivalry, or at least a sense not to hurt a woman unless completely warranted.

Suddenly, Draco felt something prodding into his throat. His eyes looked down seeing the brown wood of her wand that she had snuck between them.

“Clever girl,” he whispered as their eyes met again and he pulled away, his hand leaving her throat. He actually looked impressed for a moment, and then a smirk appeared across his face. “I guess you’re learning, eh?”

Hermione’s chest was heaving with her breaths, her skin already beginning to glisten with sweat. Her face, which had shown fear, actually showed some gusto as she continued to point her wand at him. “What’s the point of being a strong woman if I can’t defend myself?”

“Well, at some point I’ll have my wand first,” he quipped.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll win that one,” she said sarcastically.

The tension was thick in the air: the anger, the closeness, and then excitement. Both of their hearts were pounding in their chests; the battle of wits, and then the physical battle that turned to a battle of quicks were exciting. Hermione felt a feeling in her she had not felt since 5th year when she began to break school rules to train in Dumbledore’s Army; it was a side of her that not many saw. And in their quarters, alone, there were no professors or her friends to judge or scold her for her actions. At the same time, there was no one to save her from her destiny—she was left to fend for herself. Harry and Ron were easy to come to her rescue, which always irritated Hermione. It took isolating herself from them somewhat to not have to feel them breathing down her neck at all times; it was exhilarating to defend herself for once.

Staring back at her was Draco, actually if he could believe it, _turned on_ by the girl whom he hated so. Her transition from flight to fight was impressive, he thought. But quickly his feeling turned to self-hatred, as he scolded himself for looking at her any other way than what she was: unpure, without. As soon as the smirk appeared on his face, it left leaving his trademark scowl behind. “You better hope you’re right,” he sneered. “I wouldn’t want to fail your precious Dumbledore by sending you to the infirmary.” 


	3. Chapter Three

Another weekend brought sighs of relief to the 7th years; now fully into their new year, the pressure of the surmounting school work was being fully appreciated—or fully resented. It was Saturday afternoon in mid-October as the group made their way to Hogsmeade for some Butterbeer. The leaves had turned red and orange and were falling from their branches. The wind swept them up into the clouds and then back down again to cover the already brittle grasses. The warm summer air that accompanied the sun in September had all but disappeared, replacing the world with a crisp breeze that brought out fall jackets.

Hermione, Harry, Ginny, Luna, and Neville all made their way down the path towards Hogsmeade. The boys’ clothing looked little different than their September clothing, though they seemed to relish in the cooler breeze that whipped through their short hair; the girls were already beginning to bundle up for the cooler months as they wore fall jackets and blue jeans. Hermione’s curly auburn hair blew in the breeze that was howling, signifying a deeper change in the weather with Halloween just around the corner.

“Where’s Ron?” Ginny asked. Her arms were wrapped around Harry’s as they walked along—the picture of the perfect couple.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “He just disappeared after lunch.”

“Did you tell him we were going to Hogsmeade today?” Ginny asked.

“I told him.” Neville rose his hand up as if being counted for attendance as he spoke. “He didn’t really seem to be paying much attention, though.”

“Well, as long as you told him, he’ll have nothing to complain about later when he realizes he missed it,” Hermione said as she tucked her hair behind her ear in a pointless action to keep it from whipping her in the face.

“So you no longer find his insufferable complaining charming anymore, eh, Hermione?” Ginny smirked.

Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled at the girl. She shook her head in a way to demonstrate she wasn’t exactly comfortable with their conversation, though portrayed her answer to her question itself.

“Well, I hope you don’t stop finding me charming,” Harry said to Ginny as he looked over at her with a toothy smile. Ginny smiled back in kind and elbowed him a little.

“Ugh, you two,” Hermione said as she pretended to be disgusted before smiling. In truth, she was happy to see them so happy, even if their joking was at the expense of her failed relationship with Ron.

“At least young love is good for all of us,” Luna said.

“What do you mean?” Neville questioned, peering down at the girl.

“Well, usually it rubs off.” Neville watched as the girl just one year younger than he seemed to march ahead of everyone. Her statement seemed to be resolute and not open to discussion making him wonder at her true purpose behind saying it to him.

“Or not,” Hermione mumbled under her breath as the memory of her failed relationship went through her head.

She remembered it was the end of 6th year when her odyssey with her relationship with Ron began. The lack of any threats coming to fruition made everyone sigh in relief. After Ron broke up with Lavender, Harry had slipped it to Ron what had really happened when Ron was unconscious after being poisoned. At first, Ron was exasperated—unwilling to acknowledge the truth, and expressing almost regret for having ended it with Lavender. But then after some days went by, he fell to the idea of Hermione. The fact that it almost seemed as a relationship of convenience always bothered Hermione, which always seemed apparent in his attitude—unimpressive to say the least.

Back in the present, Neville held the door open for everyone as they went into Hogsmeade, which was only partially filled making finding a table easy. As they began to settle down, Neville went to the bar to get them some Butterbeer when Ginny suddenly got a look of disgust on her face.

“Gross,” she said. Her eyes were firmly placed at a dark corner of the bar. Everyone looked over to where Ginny’s eyes had settled finding Ron and Lavender snogging in the corner.

“Oh my God,” Harry slightly laughed. “He mentioned Lavender earlier, but I thought he was just expressing desperation.”

“So, this is what it felt like to see me with Dean last year,” Ginny said matter-of-factly, with the disgust still apparent on her face.

“Actually, you seem to be taking it better.” Harry laughed again as he took seat next to his girlfriend.

Suddenly, all eyes went on Hermione as if to gage her reaction. “What?” Hermione asked. Her voice conveyed her slight discomfort with all the attention she was getting.

“Does it bother you?” Ginny asked.

“Ron can do whatever he likes,” Hermione said a little too quickly, as her eyes darted away.

“Or whoever…” Harry muttered as he stood up to help Neville with their glasses of Butterbeer. Handing some of the glasses to Harry, Neville suddenly got a sight of what the group was talking about.

“Oh, so that’s what he meant earlier,” Neville said nodding his head as if learning some inane fact.

“Wouldn’t have guessed it, would you?” Harry said as he set down the glasses.

“I thought Lavender was dating some 6th year?” Neville asked as he took another glance at the snogging couple.

“Oh, I heard they broke up last week,” Luna said in her normal sing-song voice.

“I heard she found him snogging some 5th year!” Ginny said in almost an almost excited whisper, as if relishing in the gossip.

“No, _she_ was snogging some 5th year,” Luna countered.

“Gross,” they all seemed to say in unison.

* * *

Some time later as the sun was beginning to set, the group was walking back towards Hogwarts. Ron and Lavender had left soon after Harry and company had arrived, probably feeling prying eyes on them.

“Why do you think he’d subject himself to someone he found so annoying?” Ginny asked. Her arm was laced around Harry’s again as they walked.

“I don’t think you understand men very much, Ginny,” Harry said.

Ginny smiled at him and gripped his arm a little tighter. “Well, I seem to understand you pretty well.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty lucky to have found a girl like you,” he said smiling.

“Ugh, we get it, you’re cute!” Hermione said laughing at the pair. They were becoming pretty annoying, and as Hermione peered over at her other two companions of Luna and Neville walking together she began to worry she really was the 5th wheel of this party.

“Um, so Hermione,” Neville began after a few moments of silence—at this point it felt like he was trying to intentionally include her. “How’s being Head Girl?”

“More responsibility,” Hermione began, looking back at Neville, “but I enjoy it.”

“And Malfoy?” he asked, which was rather bold for Neville making Hermione wonder if he had been put up to it by Harry.

“Other than a few run-ins…” she said after a few moments. “It’s–” _Fine?_ Hermione thought, but knew it was a lie. “Nothing I can’t handle,” she finished, which seemed to be her overall sentiment for everything lately. As long as she could handle it, everything was fine, right? Though, she wondered what it would be that she couldn’t actually handle at this point, since she handled seeing Ron with Lavender again.

“Can we see your dorm?” Neville suddenly asked, seeming braver than Hermione remembered.

“Yes! I want to see it so bad!” Ginny said happily, as if they were already set to go back to Hermione’s Commons.

“I don’t think so,” Hermione said warily. Somewhere between feeling overly socialized already and apprehensive about a run-in with Draco, Hermione couldn’t find it in herself to agree.

“Why? Worried about Malfoy?” Harry said bitingly.

“No!” Hermione said defensively. “He’s also a person I don’t care what he does. I’m just…tired.” Hermione lied. “I also have a lot of work to do.” At least that part was true.

“Oh, come on, Hermione! It’s Saturday night!” Ginny pleaded.

“Exactly, and I don’t have much time tomorrow to work since I have to patrol the castle tomorrow night,” Hermione explained quickly, her steps getting quicker. “In fact, I really should get back now. Bye! I had fun!” And off Hermione went quickly ahead of them, almost running.

After Hermione left her friends, she realized she actually had to go back to her dorm not wanting to get caught in the library; even if that was her normal place to do her homework, she felt it would be awkward if she saw them again, as if she was lying. Hermione did have a good amount of homework ahead of her, but in reality, she didn’t want to chance having her friends run into Draco.

If Draco had come back when she had her friends in the dorm, he of course would be confrontational and go after the person who was most likely to react: Harry. After their spat Harry would have a renewed sense of “concern”, and the reprieve they all felt from Harry’s anxieties and accusations would be over. There would also be a sense, in Harry’s mind, that Hermione _obviously_ was over her head and needed help even if she protested.

Hermione took a deep breath as the painted people looked at her intently as if waiting for her to make a toast at their elaborate dinner party. “Lucios lemos,” she said, and the door loudly opened. As soon as that sound filled the corridor she expected to hear some masculine huff of annoyance from inside, but instead there was nothing but silence. Hermione took a step in as the painting closed behind her. The room was rather dark indicating no one was there. Taking her wand from her pocket, she whispered a spell and the candles lit in the room, which lit the ancient room with a soothing glow. Hermione felt relieved to be alone, but guilty that her fears of a confrontation between her friends and Draco were unwarranted.

Hermione took a look around the room as she unbuttoned her coat. Her hazel eyes took in the candle light and the blues, oranges, and pinks flowing through the windows near the bookcases from the setting sun. She decided the room was too quiet as she set her coat on the back of the loveseat. Hermione took her wand firmly in hand and pointed it at the fireplace, and a stream of fire illuminated out the tip and into the waiting logs. Bellows of fire suddenly sprung upwards with a roar setting the room ablaze with warm colors.

“That’s better,” Hermione said softly as she grabbed her coat and made her way up into her room to change.

As she opened the Gryffindor-bannered door, the setting sunlight that flooded through the stone windows across from her bed lit her room up with a mystical light—even in times of wizardry, nature still provided some of the most magical moments. A wistful smile appeared on Hermione’s lips as she set her wand down on the nightstand and went over to the window to look out.

High up in the tower, the vistas were magnificent with the rusted colors of the leaves covering the muted greens of the grasses below. She watched as the wind picked up the leaves and made them dance. The sun, which was almost completely covered by the proliferated blanket of clouds that always seemed to settle in the twilight, birthed the ruminating dusk colors that encompassed the world. Hermione’s hazels eyes became clouded with the reflective wonder she felt as she looked out, pacified by the vision before her yet still melancholy as the day ended before her eyes. She let out a sigh as she leaned into the wall with her weight and folded her arms over the windowsill.

The past year had gone by so quickly. Just a year ago, they still felt the pains of losing Sirius Black; Harry’s green eyes were always stormy with anger and pain those days. How Harry must feel with Draco here after what happened—Draco’s father still in Azkaban and Bellatrix Lestrange still free. Could Hermione blame Harry? Though, as she felt last year, the anger he had was probably not well directed if put towards Draco—even she believed that Draco had little to do with Voldemort and his plans, even if his family was so intimately involved. Though Harry had tried to convince her and Ron of Draco being a Death Eater, of all things, there was no proof. In fact, Harry following Draco around seemed even more worrisome, especially when it ended in Harry almost killing Draco in the bathroom.  
However, Hermione knew Harry didn’t intend to nearly kill Draco. At the time, he did not know what the spell written in the Half-Blood Prince’s book would do. “For enemies” it indicated in eloquent writing, which Draco was in Harry’s mind. But this spell was far more powerful than any of those he had really learned before. The look of shock and almost regret on Harry’s face afterwards told her that he was being true. “But I saw something in his eyes,” Harry finally told her, as if it was some excuse. Still many months later this statement still crosses his lips as if they held meaning, but to someone who wasn’t there it just sounds like paranoid babbling.

After the incident in the boy’s bathroom, Harry did seem different. It was almost as if his exertion of aggression cleared his soul a little. His suspicion for Draco waned as the year came to a peaceful end and some of his feelings of dread that seemed to follow the boy fell deeper into him—especially as young love took over. But when Draco became Head Boy, the same anger and aggression boiled within him. Unlike Ron, Harry’s anger came from suspicion and a loss of control; his hate for the new Head Boy was rooted in a hate for Voldemort himself. Ron, on the other hand, felt anger for how the past year had treated his family as well—the loss of their home and the closing of Fred and George’s shop by the Ministry for unauthorized magic—and obviously some sexual jealousy and possessiveness of Hermione. The look in his eyes that showed anger and fear for the proximity that Hermione and Draco would hold showed alarm that the Head Boy would display some sort of sexual dominance that would make Ron the one without—of course most of the interactions of boys dealt with an alpha/beta mentality.

Hermione huffed at the idea—the idea in itself was terribly antiquated; as if Hermione was nothing more than property to be fought over. Additionally, the idea that the word “Malfoy” and “sex” would be in the same sentence having to deal with Hermione was disturbing, to say the least; though, it wasn’t strange to have those words in a sentence in general. Draco obviously was sexually involved with women, and it would appear he was involved with many in his way of referring to them as “bitches” (and through Hermione’s own experience of witnessing it). Again, Hermione shook her head at the antiquated misogyny of it all. At first, she thought it was hard to even imagine him in that light, but then her mind began to wander…

The sun was almost completely set, the hues of pink and purple shifting into a majestic blue as night fell. Her bedroom was almost completely dark except for the blue light that came in through the window and bathed Hermione in it.

In the dying light, a set of gray eyes peered from the doorway. Draco stood there and looked at the girl with her wistful look as her attention was to the disappearing daylight. The dorm was silent except for the crackles that broke from the fireplace down in the Common Room below. He found himself captured by her, having never really seen her silent before; every interaction they ever had where he had to look at her for an extended period of time was filled with disgust, anger, annoyance, and sometimes hurt. The calm and quiet that she exuded, furthering the tranquil ambience of their environment, filled Draco with peace. For a moment, he didn’t analyze his actions or scold himself—his need for a moment of peace and quiet without those thoughts overwhelmed him.

Draco felt as if he was looking at a beautiful painting in a museum, or maybe even in the castle—not that he ever took the time to really appreciate them. The colors that washed in through the window painted across her alabaster skin and her auburn hair, as the ever disappearing light hushed her intricate pigment tonality. Even from his point of view, he could see her hazel eyes glossy with the azure vistas she drank in.

After a few minutes went by, the calm in Draco’s mind began to wane; the thoughts flooded his head when he realized what he was doing. As he mentally chastised himself, something within told him to not ruin the beautiful painting he had come upon and he slinked back into the darkness without disturbing her. For once he cared, as he wanted her to enjoy the tranquility he had enjoyed even if for a few more moments.

 

* * *

 

“Ron!” Harry called on the way to breakfast Sunday morning as he caught Ron in the hallway.  
Ron turned around and waved at his friend appearing a little more peppy than usual. “Hey, Harry!” Ron smiled a goofy smile.

“I was wondering where you were; I didn’t see you last night before bed…Did you come in after hours?” Harry asked. Ron nodded his head with that same goofy smile on his face. “…Were you out this Lavender?”

“Oh, you know!” Ron said, letting out what seemed to be dreamy sigh.

“Uh, well, it was hard not to after seeing you two snogging at Hogsmeade yesterday,” Harry said.

“Isn’t it great?” Ron asked as he began to walk—through it seemed as if he was floating.

Harry ran a few steps to catch up with his him. “I mean, it’s a bit sudden. I thought you were joking yesterday,” Harry admitted as he chuckled to himself.

“Well, I sort of was. But then it just happened,” Ron began. “I ran into Lavender in the courtyard just after hearing that she and Dale broke up. It just seemed like perfect timing, and suddenly we were on our way to Hogsmeade together, and the rest is history.”

“Well, that’s great and all,” Harry began, the question already in his voice, “but what about last time? Wasn’t she a pain?”

“I was young then, Harry!” Ron scolded, hitting his friend on his back a little too hard, as if to convey some sort of sense adult masculinity. “I didn’t know what I was missing!”

A slight look of disgust went over Harry’s face. “That’s probably more than I needed to know.”

“Don’t be such a child, Harry!” Ron scolded again, as he puffed his chest out with a confidence like the time he thought he had Liquid Luck streaming through his veins before his first Quidditch tournament. “This is what being a man is all about!”

“Snogging in a bar and coming home after curfew?” Harry amusingly questioned.

“Exactly!” Ron agreed, patting Harry again too hard on his back.

Ron, goofy on pheromones, continued walking and Harry just stopped as he watched his love-sick, or lust-sick, friend glide into the Great Hall. Harry shouldn’t have been so perturbed by his friend’s new romance, but Harry wondered first where Ron’s hand had last been and if he should change his shirt now.  


* * *

 

That night Draco and Hermione were to traipse the castle in the pitch black hours when the students should be sleeping. Even though Professor McGonagall had wanted them to patrol together because of what had happened with the Slytherin 5th year some weeks ago, Hermione had convinced the professor that she was capable on her own. Even though Draco let out a snort at her conviction, he didn’t protest since he himself enjoyed the silence and solitude of his Sunday rounds.

Draco made his way through the corridors, his wand lazily lit as he went along. He kept his wand low, trusting his vision to catch anything out of the ordinary, and wanting to keep his eyes adjusted to the darkness without glare. As he passed by windows he would look out onto the grounds to view the moonlight cascading over the land. In these moments, when he could capture the magnificence of nature, he would feel the same calm he relished in whenever it would fall upon him. The moments were always fleeting, so he tried to focus on them. It had become his meditation—something he required after the incident in the boys bathroom last year that nearly ended in his blood running down the shower drains.

The night had been quiet as most of the students were too tired from classes to stay out after dark. Draco spent these couple hours trying not to think much, using the time of solitude to try and leave himself—becoming the blackness that surrounded him, dispersing through the immense castle, only to be interrupted by moonlight. He made his footsteps as light as air, sometimes walking in pure darkness just listening to the empty halls. But then his thoughts were interrupted as Draco heard a feminine voice off in the distance, the pitch immediately identified as Hermione. “–I told you, you have to go back to your dorm.”

Draco hurried his steps, letting his wands light die out so he could plunge into the darkness around him.  
 “Do you think I’m going to listen to a _Mudblood_?” as masculine voice bit out.

Draco sighed to himself. _Another Slytherin out after dark,_ Draco thought—something that did not look good for him or his House.

“Do not think you get to use that type of language with me. I am your superior–” she began.

Draco had finally come upon their sight when he rounded a corner, but he made sure to hide behind the wall just peering over as he gripped his wand in ready, if needed. _Which of course she’ll need my help,_ he thought bitterly to himself.

“My _superior_?!” the boy seethed as he interrupted her. It was a 6th year that Draco couldn’t quite remember the name of at the moment. “Your kind will never be anything but a tragedy of the magical world, until…” the boy trailed off.

There was a moment of silence, as the boys dark eyes glimmered in pure hatred at Hermione; his eyes seemed to complete the last words he didn’t have the courage to say. But then he began to speak again.

“Volde–” at the beginning of word, Draco felt his body lunge out but stopped when he saw Hermione’s wand at the boy’s throat.

“Don’t even say it.” Hermione’s voice was dark as her presence seemed to bore into him. Draco wondered to himself what her eyes must look like then, though he was sure he’d seen such anger in her eyes, though it could be different when not directed at him.

“If you value your time here, then you better show some respect to those that hold the keys to your ability to walk these halls,” she warned, though wasn’t clear by her meaning.

Draco was impressed as he slinked back behind the wall, an amused smile actually coming to his face. Though the boy’s words and actions were of course concerning, for a moment he let Hermione’s ability to defend herself intrigue him.

“You _will_ report back to the Head of your House tomorrow for reprimand,” she seethed poking him deeper in his neck as she pushed him back. The boy glared at her silently, but backed away from her and then turned around to go back to his dorm which was nearby.

Though Draco stood fascinated by the scene he had witnessed, he silently took note that maybe she should no longer patrol near Slytherin. Not only was it getting her into possibly dangerous positions, but the members of his House seemed to be getting more aggressive, and losing their sense of propriety when faced with the Muggle-born Head Girl. He wondered if it was simply a reaction to her appointment or to the impending change in the world around that most without dark influence wouldn’t know.

Even though Draco had happened upon the confrontation, he never mentioned it to Hermione, though he did hear about it from Snape. The idea of providing further accolades to the witch seemed to make him uncomfortable, especially at how often his thoughts of her seemed to be more pleasant than usual, which was a disturbing change in his usually dark and troubled mind. Or, at least, he liked to further his perturbed feeling to quench his sense of discipline.

 

* * *

 

“Concentrate, Draco!” Snape’s booming voice called out from the deluge of swirling lights and visions as Draco’s head screamed.

It felt like his skull was ripping in half, which took all of Draco’s concentration not to cry out—his chest burning from his suppressed breaths. Macerated scenes ripped through his mind, which left diamond cuts in the raw flesh of his brain as they went, searing his vision with sharp explosions of light and what appeared as blood. “I-I can’t!” Draco called out finally as he fought hard within his mind and soul.

“You must!” Snape simply yelled, and the pain seemed to sear through him even more as the intensity of Snape’s omnipresent power surged.

Draco cried out in the chair, his arms gripping the arm rests with so much force he felt as if the wood could crumble within his grasp. His face was contorted in pain, making him an unrecognizable victim of what seemed like torture. Beads of sweat gathered on his brow, his skin even paler than normal, and his cheeks turning red from the strain of his trapped breath. He felt his calm and energy being drained from his as the pain and vision became crushing by the second.


	4. Chapter Four

It was late, but he didn’t know how late when he stumbled out of Snape’s office into the dark corridor, as the pain in his mind seared his thought processes. He staggered through the silent, murky halls, his wand all but forgotten in his robes, as the sheers of moonlight guided his way. His ears were filled with the sound of his ragged breathing and a high-pitched howl that came from within; his vision was cloudy and misty as if not in focus at all. He didn’t know how long he staggered until he came to the door that led to the courtyard—his efforts to look for a guiding light leading him to the moonlit grass.

Draco fell down into the grass face first—his cheek smearing into the dew-laden grasses already crisp with the beginnings of winter. Lying there, Draco delighted in the cool against his hot face as his sweat melded with natures misty droplets; it almost felt like a luxurious bed in his desperation for repose. The moon beams illuminated his sprawled body—left for dead by anguish and despair. This sight, however, would be unknown with the minds and souls of those in the castle unconscious to the world; it was so late that maybe the only eyes watching the castle were those of Mrs. Norris as her narrowed eyes peered out into the night.

Time passed, and again Draco couldn’t comprehend how long—it could have been minutes or hours. As he clutched the wet grass in his hands, Draco felt his grasp on the world around him return as the blades glided between his fingers in ticklish swipes. Finally, his breathing steadied; the strands of grass blades in front of his face vibrated with each even breath. His gray eyes that were previously empty and void of his own presence soon began to flicker with life again.

Draco let out a soft grunt as he began to jostle his body as he sensed his blood that had felt cold and frozen in his limbs begin to circulate again. Finally, with a hard grunt, he began to push himself up—the grass that had felt soft left imprints in his tired flesh. Getting to his knees, Draco put his hands to his face and wiped the dew and sweat from his skin as he wondered what his life had become. As he put his hands to his side, Draco looked up at the full moon before him and let out a deep sigh as his breath exploded into ice crystals in the air above. It was cold, but it reminded Draco that he was alive.

What had life become for Draco Malfoy? The year before, he had been planning inane attempts to kill the famous wizard, Dumbledore, at Lord Voldemort’s request, and now he sat bathed in moonlight on pause. There used to be a plan, and all Draco had to do was comply. The tests for the Vanishing Cabinets were not quite successful, but were well on their way to being ready when the Ministry confiscated both of them. Then the game changed—the war put on hold as both sides determining what to do next. Draco was made a silent sleeper-weapon, waiting for orders, though unsure if he could complete them. At least with orders, he felt there was some sort of future.

Draco closed his eyes and he listened to the nature around him, his breathing, and silence. Empty, desolate, meaningless: that’s how Draco felt about his life, his soul. It was just a waiting game to die, which was probably all that there was left to look forward to in his future. The word “future” had no meaning—it was simply a means to the end. A year ago all he had to worry about was his own abilities to carry out a task that seemed rather simple if broken down into their parts. The hardest part was to gather courage, which Draco would be hard-pressed to admit he truly lacked. Back then he felt ripped apart by his own adolescent innocence and his preordained future of famous-wizard killer; now, he was literally threatened with being ripped apart and dissolved out of this world. At first, he wondered if he should give in and be torn apart, but then his lack of courage took over. He was afraid: afraid of the unknown, afraid of what’s after, afraid to not be; it was something he was more afraid of than the unknown of the world around him. However, the fear that persisted for so many months was making him weak; his need for something, an end, maybe, to happen, overwhelmed his every need and want.

In these moments, after his mind was being ripped apart, all of Draco’s darkness spilled out of him like blood—his angst and despair desperate within him. Suddenly, he felt more wetness gather on his face—he was crying. A silent, desperate sob quaked within him as his face fell in grief. He had become a man in the past year as he grappled with themes beyond himself and lost his innocence to the war that most people around him didn’t even see. He felt far beyond the influence of humanity, with his “friends” nothing more than names of people he used to know. Even those he was supposed to hate, like Hermione Granger, were becoming nothing but a blank slate—and as a blank slate his hate and prejudice began to wane. He thought maybe it was silly to see such an inconsequential person as an enemy when Draco had seen real evil.

But, he wondered, wasn’t evil good? To be a Malfoy, a pure-blood, was to be for purity and the destruction of anything that was muddied. To most this was evil, but to his parents, especially his father, this was worth giving one’s life—or in his father’s case, his freedom. But in this pause and personal threat, Draco began to question if this was for what he did indeed want to give his life up. But these questions were forbidden and immediately silenced within him—he was his father’s son and his destiny was already set before him. Though the direction wasn’t entirely clear, he knew that one way or another it would all be set before him again and the outcome would be the same.

He had come full circle, and it meant simply that his life was nothing more than the whim of others. He was a vessel—a vessel for whatever they wanted to fill it up. He would perform the duties instructed when the time came, or he would be killed on the spot having accomplished nothing except treason against his blood.

Opening his eyes, he wiped the stray wetness from his cheeks and began to stand. His mind was beginning to settle more—his soul was no longer able to hold such heavy whispers. His body was drained of all essence, and he craved the calm of sleep where only then he felt slightly at peace. After a few stuttering steps, he began to make his way back to his dorm for silent sleep.

Back at the dorm, which was quiet and dark, Draco made his way to his room—his weary body waving with weakness. As he rested his head upon his pillow, Draco closed his eyes. At first, slicing scenes of mayhem appeared making him restless. And then, as if dreaming, visions of a girl peering through a window into the setting sun, her visage bathed in hues of the sea, her eyes wistful and tranquil, painted across his mind. A sense of calm fell over Draco’s mind as he fell in to slumber. 

_Hermione_.

 

* * *

 

“It’s destiny, you know,” Ron said as he shoveled a pile of eggs into his mouth. “You know, Lavender and me.” The jumble of yellow eggs rolled around in his open mouth.

“Sure, Ron,” Harry said unenthusiastically, not even paying much heed to his friend as he looked over the paper Hedwig had brought in.

“I’m serious!” Ron protested as he tried to get his friend’s attention. Harry sighed and put his paper down to look at Ron.

“Fine, I believe you,” Harry huffed in annoyance—apparently this conversation was not a new one to Harry.

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Ron dreamily sighed before shoveling more eggs into mouth.

“Yeah, sure,” Harry wearily sighed as he picked up his paper again.

“What’s great?” Ginny asked as she and Hermione sat down. Harry peered over his newspaper at Ginny, glaring slightly.

“Please, don’t get him started again,” Harry whined.

“Lavender and me, of course,” Ron said matter-of-factly.

“Oh,” Ginny said dejectedly, appearing uncomfortable that she had reintroduced the subject again and in front of Hermione.

Hermione peered over at Ron for a moment, their eyes meeting, before Hermione took a drink of her orange juice and looked away.

“What? Why is no one happy for me? Did Hermione say something?” Ron accused.

“What?!” Hermione balked at him. “I haven’t said a thing!” she defended.

“Oh, I’m sure. I’m sure it’s killing you to see me with her!” Ron indicted.

“ _Killing_ me? Oh yes, it’s just killing me inside,” Hermione said sarcastically. “I just can’t stand seeing the GUY I BROKE UP WITH gallivanting around.”

“See!” Ron raved.

Hermione huffed at his stupidity at not understanding sarcasm. “That was obviously sarcasm!” Hermione defended, as she felt her cheeks get hot.

“Come on, guys, do we really have to do this?” Harry pleaded.

“Don’t look at me, he’s the one who’s obviously completely delusional,” Hermione said, flustered.

“Oh, what makes me so delusional, Hermione?” Ron asked defensively, with his voice just asking for a fight.

“Don’t get me started,” Hermione warned.

“Oh, no, you said it, so why don’t you just tell us?” Ron mockingly prodded.

“Fine!” Hermione said standing up. “You’re delusional that I would actually feel some sort of jealousy after _I’m_ the one that broke up with _you_. You’re also delusional if you think your… _thing_ with Lavender is any different than last year—though, I hope she’s the one that realizes, FINALLY, that you’re not worth the time!”

Ron seemed to balk at her, but then soon his face contorted angrily. However, before he had a chance to say anything, Hermione grabbed an apple and her book and then walked off.

“That went well,” Ginny murmured after a few moments.

“You know you’re a real arse, don’t you Ron?” Harry said shaking his head.

“ _Me_? She was the one who called me delusional,” Ron defended.

“Well, you started it!” Ginny defended Hermione. 

“Did not!” Ron started back—it started to feel like a sibling fight in the making already.

“You know, it’s hard to have a nice, quiet breakfast reading the paper with you guys,” Harry huffed and stood up, going after Hermione. Ron and Ginny seemed to continue their sibling rivalry of wits paying little heed to Harry’s absence.

“Hermione!” Harry called after her, catching her in the hall. Hermione immediately spun around seeming to expect a confrontation.

“Look Harry–” Hermione began defensively.

“No, I’m not here to talk about that. Ron’s a prig,” Harry said bluntly. “I have something to talk to you about.” At this Hermione seemed to settle as she peered at him curiously.

“Well, Dumbledore talked to me again about Slughorn,” Harry stated lowly, so no one else could hear.

Hermione leaned forward intently. “Since I was unable to get much information from him last year, he wants me to try again.”

Last year, Dumbledore had asked Harry to befriend Professor Slughorn in hopes of uncovering the truth to the conversation Slughorn had with Tom Riddle years ago. Dumbledore considered the memory, which was “a lie”, as Dumbledore explained, to be the most important one in his collection of memories; it seemed it might hold the key to Voldemort and the possible dark magic he was using to survive his mortality. Unfortunately, Harry had been unable to get Slughorn to divulge any information on Tom Riddle, and since the year ended so peacefully there seemed to be no rush to do any drastic measures to get it; in fact, Dumbledore didn’t even mention it at the beginning of the year as a task that Harry should spend time on again.

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Why the renewed interest?” she ventured.

“I don’t know. He didn’t really explain. Maybe it’s just for good measure,” Harry responded.

“Well, have you thought about ways to get him to tell you?” Hermione asked.

“A few, but I thought we could start researching it again.” And by ‘we’ Harry meant Hermione. Hermione slowly nodded. “You know—research some of the possibilities of this dark magic Tom Riddle used…” Harry said lowly, but stopped as Draco Malfoy passed by them. Harry’s eyes watched him until he was farther away and then continued. “…So maybe we can figure it out. You know, just in case Slughorn doesn’t remember or something.”

“Okay,” Hermione said. “I’ll start some research, but I’m not sure how far I’ll get though; it’s almost as if some of the books on the subject disappear every year from the library, even in the Restricted Section. It’s possible this type of magic is so dark we won’t find it.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing,” Harry stated. “Thanks, Hermione.”

Harry turned to leave, but Hermione caught his attention again. “Harry, does Ron know about this?” Hermione questioned.

“I haven’t told him yet. Honestly, without telling him by default because we’re all together, I’m not sure there is real reason to tell him. It’s not like he’s going to do any research on it,” Harry said offering her a smile, which Hermione returned.

“You should probably tell him at some point, or he’ll be upset,” Hermione teased.

“Yeah, but maybe I’ll wait until he’s not so…”

“Aggressive?”

“I was going to say being a total arse, but close enough.” They laughed, and it felt like old times.

 

* * *

 

That night, Hermione went to the library and took out some books. Some of them seemed far-fetched when it came to possibly containing any pertinent information, but the books she could find so far that had seemed possible turned out not to contain much information when she had looked over them last year. It was a Tuesday night and some 5th years were buzzing around the library preparing for an exam making it rather difficult for Hermione to concentrate. She decided to go back to her dorm to try and research there, if possible.

An hour had passed on what seemed like a useless task, with each book containing nothing pertinent—all of it was rather innocent and only hinted at possible dark magic. Hermione sighed and threw the last book at the end of her feet on the couch, settled back, and gazed into the fire place for a moment of relaxation.

“You again,” a voice snorted from behind her. Hermione turned her head to peer towards the masculine voice that interrupted her drowsy thoughts. It was Draco, glaring at her from the door.

“I have company coming over, so you better sod off,” he warned as if she was nothing more than a pest.

Hermione sat up on the couch and fully turned towards him. “This is my dorm too!” she declared.

“Only by accident,” he spat. “And really, what can you hold on to these days?” he ventured boldly. “You couldn’t even hold on to a _Weasley_ ; that’s how pathetic you are.”

His ire was abrupt and bold, feeling unwarranted to Hermione. Scenes of Ron and Lavender danced through Hermione’s head, and she felt a feeling of rejection. Even though it had been her that had broken up with Ron, it had appeared that she was the one that was rejected and lost, Lavender being the winner, in Draco’s view. Though it wasn’t true, the perception hurt her feminine ego. Hermione stood up in protest—the fact that his insult had hit a cord evident on her face. Inside Hermione, the only recourse she could think was to defend herself and deny this perception to regain a sense of confidence. “First of all, I was the one–” Hermione began in her legendary matter-of-fact tone.

“And to have someone as pathetic as _Lavender Brown_ take your place is just embarrassing,” he interjected, as he laughed cruelly. “But I can’t blame him—Weasley that is—as stupid and worthless as he is, you’re even worse. It’s embarrassing that he even dated you in the first place,” he ranted with a look of disgust. “Not only is she a pureblood, but at least Lavender isn’t so bad to look at compared to you, you disgusting Mudblood.”

As sudden his words and cruelty were, so was the suddenness of the tears that sprang to her eyes. Even though she felt confident in her feelings about Ron and Lavender, the perception of her failure and her lack of worth made her feel embarrassed and ashamed. _Does everyone actually think that about me?_ she wondered. The tears that welled in her eyes made her even more embarrassed and ashamed that she had let Draco get to her. Quickly, she grabbed her books and wand and rushed out of the dorm room without a word, as she tried to hide the tears.

Draco watched her go with a proud sneer on his face. As soon as she was gone, though, the look disappeared from his face and he appeared crestfallen in the silence of their dorm room.

Hermione retreated to the library, which was her sanctuary, especially when she was feeling blue. By the time she even stepped foot in the library, she had made sure that any stray tears were gone—just in case she ran in to anyone she knew. It was later, however, and most of the other students had gone back to their dorms for the night. Hermione let out a sigh of relief as she relaxed her posture and allowed her feeling of rejection to show.

She walked slowly through the library as her feet felt as heavy as her heart. She let her eyes glaze over in thought as she passed by the rows of books and began to put back the ones she had finished. As she brought the books back to their cases, she simply let go of them and they levitated back to their rightful place; her mind began to wander during the inane task.

 _Why did Malfoy’s words hurt so much?_ Hermione wondered. She remembered that she was fully accepting of the truth and reality of her failed relationship with Ron. When she made the decision to break up with him in the first place, she had mulled it over deeply for a week analyzing every feeling and thought she had—she was resolute in her decision. Ron was just not the right person for her, and it was something she should have known from the beginning. It was possible for people to change, but Ron was probably incapable of changing _that_ much. But even with this resolution of feelings on the matter, was it possible she felt jealousy?

Hermione bit her lip as she delved deeper into her feelings, and her process of putting the books back became sluggish and slow. She thought maybe she did feel some jealousy, but it wasn’t as clear cut as others might think. Hermione knew that she did not want to be back in a relationship with Ron again—been there, done that—but Hermione felt some jealousy that Ron had moved on maybe a little too quickly, and also that he was able to enjoy intimacy and Hermione was not. If anyone deserved intimacy, reassurance, _love_ , it was Hermione; she was the one that in reality was truly rejected by Ron, and maybe that was why Draco’s words hurt so much.

Ron never really loved her, and in some ways probably didn’t even really _like_ her. Hermione felt like she was a partner of convenience; therefore, he never put real effort into any part of their relationship—just like their friendship. Now with Lavender, would Ron actually change and give Lavender what Hermione had wanted: true love? And there it was: Hermione was afraid that Lavender would prove that it wasn’t actually Ron to blame, but that it was Hermione who was not worthy of his love in the first place.

Hermione clutched a side of a desk as she stood rigid with her head hung with her hair covering her face as she tried to hold back tears. Even though most knew that Hermione was the one that had broken it off, maybe everyone knew it was because Ron never truly accepted, or loved, Hermione in the first place, and that maybe even to Ron she was unworthy, not good enough, _without_. And then Hermione wondered if that made her almost a sexual pariah to the other men in Hogwarts— _obviously_ not good enough if Ron didn’t even want her. Maybe that’s why Draco’s words hurt so much—that she was without not only in blood, but everything: her looks, her personality, her expectations.

Suddenly, Hermione shook her head and aggressively wiped away her tears. Inside her mind she screamed at herself. _How dare you think that about yourself!_ she thought. No matter what Draco had said or Ron had done (or not done), Hermione knew deep down she did not deserve to question her person physically, emotionally, or intellectually like she had begun to. No, she was confident in herself—she had made the right decision to break up with Ron, and it was his loss, not hers: she was worthy of love and intimacy; her body was healthy and perfect, and Hermione actually liked how she looked; her personality, though sometimes a little too know-it-all, was unique and appropriate; and she wouldn’t change her blood-status even if she could—she loved her parents and the Muggle world too, after all. As Hermione checked off all the positive things in her mind about herself, she felt her soul begin to purify and the darkness lift from her face.

Hermione knew that she was happy with herself, and even if she was without an intimate partner, she knew she was young and that her relationship status did not actually define her worthiness. _And to believe otherwise is completely misogynistic_ , she thought to herself with a huff, feeling her indignation come back to her. No matter the course of Ron’s future relationships, or why their relationship had failed, it did not mean Hermione was lacking. Hermione stood up tall and straightened her uniform as if readying herself for the world again. Pulling her hand from the desk she had been clutching, she confidently put back the last book and made her way back to her desk by the window.

As Hermione sat down, she felt proud of herself that she was able push through her mental anguish and anxieties and not fall into an unconfident despair that had sometimes plagued her in earlier years. She remembered times years ago, often after run-ins with Draco, how she would find herself in the library, questioning her existence at Hogwarts as an “unworthy Mudblood”, and burying herself into books to ease her pain. Back then, it was hard to rationalize out of her low self-esteem moments, as it is for a lot of children, and Hermione was happy those days were mostly behind her.

Hermione let out a loud sigh as if letting all those bad feelings escape her and sat erect in her seat as if the stiffness of her spine portrayed her renewed confidence. She was a proud 18 year old woman, and accomplished in her studies with a bright future. No matter what anyone said, or thought, _I am good enough—better, in fact,_ Hermione thought rather haughtily. Smiling at her renewed confidence, she let her mind come back to the present.

Suddenly Hermione noticed something that was slightly out of place on her desk. There were a couple of books on the corner of her desk which she had left earlier, but she noticed a piece of parchment sticking out from underneath the books. Hermione’s brow furrowed slightly as she pulled at the parchment and watched as it slid out from under the books. Immediately, she noticed type-faced words sprawled across the pages which made her realize that it appeared to be a page from a book.

Hermione turned her head in each direction to see if she saw anyone in the immediate vicinity to explain where the page had come from. But she was alone, so Hermione put her attention back to the piece of paper. Hermione turned the page the right way and looked at it. It didn’t look like it came from any book she had seen before, and from the fading of the words she could tell the book it had come from was rather old. 

“‘Magic of Spiritual Displacement’,” Hermione read softly to herself.

* * *

“What’s wrong? You didn’t cum,” Pansy asked breathlessly, as Draco rested beside her after suddenly pulling out of her.

Draco’s brow was furrowed as he took deep breaths. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said impatiently.

Pansy sat up and looked at him. “Well, I could–” she began as her hand met his still erect member with a smirk on her face.

Draco pushed her hand away and sat up from his bed and swung his legs over the side where his bare feet met the cold floor, leaving his back to her. “No. I think you should leave,” he said coldly.

Pansy’s face suddenly contorted in annoyance. “You’re the one that suddenly made me leave everyone to go fuck, and now you want _me_ to leave?”

“Yeah, Pansy, I want you to leave,” he said a little too gruffly as he turned and looked at her. His face wasn’t in a normal scowl or full of anger—it was actually a little soft. This threw Pansy off guard for a moment and her anger subsided a little.

“Fine!” she huffed softly as she got up from the bed and quickly got dressed. “I already got mine, anyways,” she retorted to their imaginary argument. When she finished getting dressed, she quickly left without a word.

Draco didn’t even watch her as she left, already in thought about another as he sat there limply.


	5. Chapter Five

Large snowflakes were falling out on the Quidditch field, dotting the green grasses below the on-going Slytherin practice. The sun was beginning to set in the winter sky, and the temperature was quickly falling. There was supposed to be a snow storm that night that would fully blanket the Hogwarts grounds.

“That’ll be all for today!” yelled Captain Urquhart as he came gliding down to the ground. The rest of the team started their descent down to the field after a particular hard day of practice. “Malfoy, come here,” Captain Urquhart called.

Draco looked particularly ragged—even his simple floating movements on the broom to the ground looked sluggish; when his feet met the ground, it looked as if he might topple over, but his legs caught him in time. His pale face looked up towards Urquhart, who did not look very pleased, as he gestured for Draco to come to him. Draco walked, almost limping, towards his Captain, already sporting a look of aggravation that was typical of the Malfoy boy.

“You called?” Draco said mockingly.

“Yeah, I did, Malfoy. And for once you actually seemed to hear me,” Urquhart said, obviously annoyed.

“Look, it’s been a good run and all, but I don’t think you’re fit for this,” he quickly explained.

“What?! You’re kicking me off the team?!” Draco asked furiously.

“Honestly, you’ve been rubbish since last year, and I just can’t excuse it anymore,” Urquhart explained, actually appearing to be a little sympathetic.

“You can’t just kick me off mid-season. I’m Head Boy! You don’t even have anyone to–” Draco began, but then a look of realization appeared on his face. “You’ve found another Seeker, haven’t you?” Draco sneered.

“What did you expect me to do, Malfoy? Just let you stay on the team because of your father? In fact, you’re lucky I let you stay at all since he went into Azkaban,” Urquhart defended.

“Don’t talk about my father, Urquhart. You’ll never be anything compared to my family line; don’t think just because you’re Captain of the bloody Quidditch team that it actually means anything,” Draco said darkly, with his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Fine, enjoy your stupid game,” he said as he ripped his Slytherin patch off his uniform roughly and handed it to Urquhart. “And next time you say something about my father, I’ll make sure your Quidditch days are over,” Draco threatened. His face was mere inches from the other boy’s as he stared him down before walking away with his nose turned up.

On his way back to the castle, as he quickly stomped through the courtyard, he suddenly dropped his broom and grabbed a stone bench and hoisted it in the air with a loud yell and slammed it down, breaking it into pieces. Draco fumed for a moment as he in took deep breaths, his veins bulging from his face and neck, before picking up his broom and leaving. Students that were there to witness the spectacular display of angered strength quickly got out of the way of the furious Slytherin Head Boy.

* * *

“Did you hear what happened?!” Ginny gushed excitedly at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. She had just come running in and leaned over to talk secretly to her friends—as was protocol when disseminating gossip. It was dinner time, and Hermione was just sitting down when the scene began.

“No?” Neville said curiously.

Ginny quickly sat down next to Harry and leaned forward. Harry, Ron, and Neville all leaned forward and Hermione off-handedly observed in slight interest; Ginny was gossiping a lot, so it wasn’t unusual for her to be excitedly telling the group some news she learned—since she was younger, she received more of the gossip from the younger students in her classes. However, this time Ginny did seem particularly tickled by the news.

“So, I just heard that Malfoy got kicked off the Slytherin Quidditch team!” she finally exclaimed. All three boys face went agape with astonishment.

“No way!” Ron cried out.

“Where did you hear this?” Neville asked—always the skeptical one.

“ _Everyone’s_ talking about it,” she said as her eyes darted back and forth to indicate that many of the same conversations were happening around them.

Hermione looked around and noticed that a lot of the same conversations were actually happening, and some other groups in the other Houses, except Slytherin, were laughing at the news—many were obviously not very big fans of the Slytherin prince.

“What happened?!” Harry asked enthusiastically.

“Apparently, he’s been really slacking in games and practices. I mean, it’s been pretty obvious, don’t you think?” Ginny asked.

“I’m not sure they can really give a fair answer to that one, Ginny,” Hermione suddenly interjected—it almost sounded like she was defending him. The group looked over at her with a slight look of confusion, but then ignored her.

“How’d he react?” Ron asked excitedly—he seemed to want to know all the gory details.

“I heard he pulled a bench from the courtyard and destroyed it!” Ginny exclaimed.

“Was that the rubble I saw on my way here?” Luna suddenly interjected as she sat down and joined the conversation; though she was not part of their House, she was curious what their conversation was about when she passed by her friends.

“You saw it?!” Neville asked, appearing to become excited about the news as well as Luna joining the discussion.

“I guess so. Where a bench use to be was just a pile of rubble; the stone underneath it was even cracked,” Luna explained casually as she nodded her head.

“Bloody hell, he _must_ have been pissed!” Ron commented, almost appearing impressed at the strength it would take for such a physical feat.

“Susan Bones actually saw him do it. She said he let out a furious yell and looked like he wanted to hex someone!” Ginny laughed.

“That’s amazing!” Ron laughed with his sister.

“Wait. Did they find another Seeker?” Harry suddenly asked.

“I don’t know—I suppose they had to have,” Ginny answered.

The group continued on their conversation as they elated in all the little details of the story, even repeating parts. Hermione was the only one who sat there who appeared to be unimpressed by the news. With curiosity, Hermione leaned to her right a little to see if she could see Draco across the hall at the Slytherin table, but he wasn’t there. Somewhere inside her, Hermione actually felt a little bad for Draco. She decided to eat her dinner quickly and go back to her dorm. Part of her was worried he could be wreaking havoc on their quarters after what he had done in the courtyard, and another part of her actually felt concern for the Slytherin Head Boy.

After Hermione finished her dinner, she got Harry’s attention as she got ready to leave. “Harry,” Hermione said, getting his attention. Harry turned his attention to Hermione as he munched on a biscuit. “Since I didn’t get to see you earlier, I wanted to tell you that I found something in the library we should talk about at some point. But I should probably get back to my dorm, just to make sure it’s still there,” Hermione mused for Harry’s benefit, though she didn’t really find it to be funny.

“Okay. How about we talk about it after breakfast tomorrow?” Harry said after swallowing his food.

“Sounds good. Have a good night everyone.” Hermione smiled as she met eyes with her other friends that looked over at her as she stood up to leave, sans Luna who had gone back to her House table.

“Hermione!” Harry suddenly called as he turned around before she was too far to hear him. Hermione turned around and looked at her friend.

“Be careful with Malfoy,” Harry warned.

“I’ll be fine,” Hermione said firmly, but offered a small smile of reassurance.

* * *

“Now, Draco, I can’t have Slytherin students, let alone our Head Boy, destroying Hogwarts property,” Snape scolded as he sat at his desk with a bored expression on his face as he watched Draco.

Draco was pacing in Snape’s office, obviously still agitated from the news of his dismissal from the Slytherin Quidditch team. “Oh, screw that! The real problem is me getting kicked off the Quidditch team. Me!” Draco exclaimed, stopping to flail his arm in an exasperated motion. “How could you have let them do that?!” he cried to his Head of House.

“Do you really think I care about sports?” Snape replied calmly.

“Well, maybe you can fix it–” Draco began, bargaining.

“Draco,” Snape interjected. “As far as I am concerned, this development is a positive one—maybe you can focus your energy elsewhere now.”

“To what?! Your bloody training?!” Draco exclaimed, becoming more agitated. “At least with Quidditch it was something I liked!”

“Oh, please, the only reason you liked that insufferable game was because it made you more popular,” Snape explained gruffly.

Draco looked surprised at his professor’s cynicism and started to protest.

“Besides, you weren’t doing the team any good, were you? How long do you think it was going to be until people wondered why your performance had weakened so?” Snape asked.

“I wasn’t that bad–” Draco began defensively.

“You’ve been showing obvious weakness since last year,” Snape quickly quipped.

“I thought you didn’t like sports?” Draco replied sarcastically.

“Well, when it comes to you possibly raising suspicion on your behavior, I am very interested, even if that has to do with _Quidditch_ ,” Snape clarified.

“Well, great, what am I supposed to do now?!” Draco shouted in exasperation as he paced. “What are people going to think?!” he exclaimed, flailing his arms as he displayed his agitation.

“Please, Draco, calm yourself,” Snape chided lowly. When Draco turned to look at him, Snape extended his hand to gesture for Draco to sit down. Draco sighed in irritation, but then sat down roughly.

“Now,” Snape began coolly. “I supposed with your little tantrum in the courtyard everyone already fully knows the details of your dismissal,” Snape explained. Draco huffed annoyingly and crossed his arms over his chest. “As the Head of your House, I’m officially taking 10 points from Slytherin.”

“What?!” Draco protested loudly, flailing his arms in incredulity, to which Snape held his hand up to silence him.

“I also warn you that any more acting out—or retaliation—will be punished,” Snape continued. Draco sank further in the chair, as he crossed his arms in a gesture of useless protest.

“When it comes to your ego, might I propose that maybe you put too much value on your status as a Quidditch Seeker and maybe you should simply accept that your accomplishments here at Hogwarts, though they are great, are not real reflections on your true purpose and value,” Snape carefully explained, his voice rising in pitch as he spoke to indicate there was deeper meaning to his statement.

“Yeah, as a puppet,” Draco said under his breath.

“What did you say?” Snape queried, his voice becoming low in warning.

“Nothing,” Draco replied coldly, and then he stared off angrily.

“So, with that, I encourage you to quickly get over this meaningless setback and move on. You, after all, do have a lot of other responsibilities and I’m sure the extra time—and energy—will be good for you,” Snape explained.

“All I _have_ is responsibility,” Draco said coldly.

“Welcome to adulthood,” Snape retorted miserably.

* * *

“Lucios lemos,” Hermione recanted softly to the portrait door in front of her quarters. The door swung open, and Hermione was met with nothing but darkness. She walked in quietly and slowly, her eyes looking over the room for any signs that anyone was there, but she was alone. With a sigh of relief, she took her wand from her pocket and waved it to light the candles in the room, which brought a comfortable glow to the Heads’ Common Room.

She walked in and set her books down on the couch near the fire before shrugged off her robe. _Maybe_ , she thought, _Malfoy will be out for the night._ Sitting down on the couch, she drew her wand and fire shot out of it and into the fire, setting it ablaze. Hermione extended her legs over the couch and sat back in repose as she looked into the fire for a moment of relaxation.

As she stared at the flickering and dancing streams of fire, her eyes glazed over in thought. Just the day before, Draco had insulted her calling into question Hermione’s sense of confidence—both as a woman and a witch. _Though_ , Hermione thought, _what was new?_ It had seemed that the exchange with Draco had appeared more sudden and harsh than she remembered most of their quarrels had been before—this time he seemed to go right for the jugular, as it were, of her emotions. With the news about his dismissal from the Slytherin Quidditch team, Hermione wondered if Draco’s impending discharge had anything to do with his sudden aggression. Part of her asked why it even mattered what the cause of his cruelty was, but within her she felt like it did matter.

Ever since they had become Head Boy and Girl, Hermione was beginning to feel like she was experiencing the true ups and downs that were Draco Malfoy. She had experienced his cruelty, his coldness, and even a little of his vulnerability; the last couple of months were really beginning to paint him as a more complex person. Though last year Hermione did notice his change in attitude and even appearance—sometimes looking as if he was sick—this was not immediately apparent to anyone else around her. It seemed Hermione was a little more perceptive to Draco; however, maybe she was giving herself undue credit since she compared herself to Harry and Ron, who had nothing but hate for the boy. But then Hermione questioned, _Shouldn’t I only have hate for him too?_

All the years of bullying and the history of his family’s influence with the Dark Lord flooded Hermione’s mind, but she remembered what she had said last year: there was no proof that Draco was even remotely part of his family’s activities with the Death Eaters. Hermione believed that it was irrational to think Draco had become one. In fact, she had noted, his melancholy attitude displayed more anguish over his separated family after his father went to Azkaban, which might indicate some shame for his father’s activities; whenever his father was brought up, Draco was quick to become defensive. Prior to this, he was proud to flaunt his father and his familial status to anyone and everyone, and now the mere mention made him furious. Hermione remembered the last time she mentioned his father, and found herself in a very vulnerable position with the Head Boy—something she hoped never would happen again. But through it all, she was optimistic, even in the face of skepticism in the form of Harry’s paranoia, that Draco Malfoy, though rude, was not evil, and not worthy of complete hate like Harry and Ron would argue.

Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted as she heard the lurching sound of the portrait door beginning to open, indicating that Draco had returned. In a bizarre panic, Hermione found herself jumping to her feet and bounding up the stairs and into her bedroom where she hid behind the door, just leaving it open a crack. As she peered out and watched Draco slowly dredge into the Common Room, Hermione wondered what had made her hide from the Head Boy. Then, remembering his words from yesterday, she settled in her mind that her actions, though dramatic, were possibly warranted. Unexpectedly, she found herself watching him from the crack in her door, drawn to the scene, her hazel eyes following his form from above.

Draco had walked in slowly, though he appeared to not take in the room around him to see if Hermione was there or not. He looked disconsolate with his shoulders low, and his face was pale and melancholy. He threw his broom down on the floor uncaringly and started to disrobe. At first, Hermione felt embarrassed as she watched, unable to tear her eyes away, but was relieved when he stopped before revealing anything private; she did note, however, after he unbuttoned the top buttons on his shirt, that the top of his chiseled chest was showing, which she would never admit she focused on longer than she should have. As he threw his discarded clothes over the couch, she realized that he covered up her robe—which was probably one of the only obviously indicators that Hermione was in fact in their quarters, other than the lights, but it could be assumed they were left lit earlier. He made his way to the couch and lay down on it, extending his legs out and resting them over the end of the arm rest; his position was similar to the one Hermione had just been in moments prior, she noted, but his long body required more room to stretch out. There he looked into the fire just as she did, presumably in thought.

Hermione watched from above, unsure why she was at all. However, she found there was something fascinating by watching the Slytherin Prince in his “natural state”—she almost felt like an anthropologist of pure-blood fuckboys. This was the infamous Draco Malfoy, unfiltered in his failure. Many had been around to see his outburst in the courtyard, his fury now the talk of the whole school, but she had the opportunity to see him like no one else did. For a moment, Hermione thought about how Harry and Ron would delight in Draco’s torment, and realized it was cruel of her to do so—which she had to admit she was, in her mind, making somewhat a mockery of it.

Realizing her view was slightly obscured from her position, Hermione kneeled down on the floor to look through the stone banisters where she could just see his face. The flickering flames flashed on his face, and she found herself mesmerized as she pressed her cheek against the door sill. His brow was slightly furrowed and his mouth was downturned as he miserably looked on past the fire and into his own troubled mind. His eyes, though she could only see the sides, reflected the fire purely. And the

Hermione realized it—there were tears in his eyes. There weren’t enough for them to fall, but they were gathered enough to make his eyes glossy and reflective. Though Hermione had seen the boy cry before, those times it had always seemed to be a show to garner attention. Here, privately in their quarters, where he thought he was alone, Hermione witnessed true emotion from the very Draco Malfoy.

As Hermione continued to watch from behind her door, kneeled down and peering through a banister of the stairway, his display, though subtle, started to make her actually feel pity for the boy. _No, not pity_ , she corrected, _sympathy_. Deep down, she had probably always felt some pity for Draco—his father being overbearing, and his right to a unique identity outside of his name impossible—but it was the first time that she actually felt sympathy for him; with pity, she looked down upon his life and experiences as someone outside her level of success and maturity as a person, but with sympathy, she actually felt understanding and even compassion for him. In that moment, instead of being the Draco Malfoy who had bullied and harassed her and her friends through the years, he had become a person of thoughts and feelings; he went from an enigma of malice, who seemed to exist merely to torment (or fuck) others, to a person of insight, experience, and purpose.

Down below, Draco brought his hands to his eyes where he seemed to wipe away those languishing tears and let out a dejected sigh, as his body became even more weak and fallen in his stance. Hermione wondered what he was thinking about, and what demons he was wrestling with behind those gray eyes.

In Hermione’s mind, Draco Malfoy had suddenly become a person. Within her she had always struggled with the idea of humanizing him, as she always tried to see the good in him, but lacked the actually proof that he was more than a conceited tormenter. Now, in front of her, was proof of his humanity.

 

* * *

 

“Harry!” Hermione called. She looked a little irritated as she approached him.

“Hermione,” Harry greeted. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“You never met me after breakfast,” she said, displaying her annoyance.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I completely forgot,” he said dismissively.

“Well, I thought you wanted to know what I found in the library,” she said.

“Sure, sure, tell me,” he said quickly.

“I found some information on ‘Spiritual Displacement’,” Hermione explained, even if she didn’t have his full attention—at least if she told him he wouldn’t have any right to complain later if the information became prudent.

“‘Spiritual _What’_?” Harry questioned.

“‘Spiritual Displacement’,” she said a little slower. “‘The act of displacing your spiritual energy to inhabit another space, like objects and people,’” she quoted in her normal matter-of-fact tone.

“So, like Tom Riddle’s diary?” Harry ventured.

“Probably—and maybe even Professor Quirrell. But I think this might be the information that Dumbledore is searching for,” Hermione said. “The only problem is that there are various types of this displacement—we just need to know the specific type he’s using now.”

“Does it have any names of these types?” Harry asked.

“No, unfortunately. It just talked about them generically. I’ll probably have to do some more searching now that I have somewhat of a lead,” she said slightly disappointedly.

“Well, I have a feeling Dumbledore might already have a lead on that one, anyways,” Harry replied quickly.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“He’s gone again,” Harry replied.

“Who? Dumbledore?”

“Yeah. I went to go talk to him again. I’m thinking about using my Liquid Luck to get the information out of Professor Slughorn, but I wanted his advice first,” Harry explained. Over Hermione’s shoulder Harry locked eyes with someone as students bustled about on their way to classes.

“Harry, do you not think the information I found is important?” Hermione asked boldly, her brow furrowed at his demeanor.

Harry locked eyes with Hermione, understanding she was picking up on his distracted behavior. “I’m sorry, Hermione, but without Dumbledore there isn’t much we can do with any information we obtain, anyways,” he explained. Harry’s eyes went somewhere behind her again and Hermione turned around to look—it was Ginny, of course.

“Oh, I see,” Hermione said softly.

“Look, Hermione, I have to go. Good work, though! I’ll talk to you later!” Harry said quickly as he went off towards Ginny.

Hermione watched her friend go and wondered if his relationship with Ginny and change in attitude was a good thing; Harry seemed to be less concerned with the Order, the impending war, and even Draco as of late—though, with the last one, Hermione was grateful. Feeling the page she found in the library in her pocket, she wondered if Harry was right and that her efforts, in general, were useless. Then, Hermione remembered that Harry was fickle—one moment he’d be wafting in teenage innocence and the next obsessing about his fears of the future. She knew she should keep researching what she could, though with Dumbledore gone it appeared they were at a standstill, again. At this rate, Harry wouldn’t even pursue more information from Professor Slughorn without consulting Dumbledore first; the Liquid Luck Harry had been awarded last year in Potions obviously meant more to him than she realized, making him apprehensive to use it. It appeared there was something in Harry’s life that was just as important as his pursuit for information of the Dark Lord, and it was the in the form of one Ginny Weasley.

As the couple left, Ginny waving to her and Hermione reciprocating, Hermione smiled—yes, Ginny was a good thing in Harry’s life. He finally had prospective, especially with how quiet things have been on the war front. For all they knew, they could complete their time at Hogwarts and maybe even get to live their lives for a while before anything else happened. Pushing the paper deeper in her pocket, Hermione reminded herself that this applied to her life as well. Though, she was honestly unsure what she had outside of her studies, which made her feel slightly melancholy.

At that moment, her thoughts went back to the night before as she watched—well, spied, she thought—on Draco in the Common Room in his distress. The way her mind flowed straight to him bothered her a little as her subconscious made a strange connection between her thoughts as she watched her two amorous friends go and to the Slytherin Prince, but she pushed that suspicious voice aside. Now with Draco off the Slytherin Quidditch team, what was it that Draco had as well? Then, Hermione remembered the parade of women he enjoyed and quickly shook her head with a huff, and turned to go on her way to go about her day.

 

* * *

 

“Oh yes, fuck me!” Pansy cried out as Draco thrust deep into her, quickly and precisely. Their bodies glistened in the candle light and the sound of their quick, labored breathing filled the air. The Slytherin bedding of Draco’s bed was strewn about them as their naked bodies neared the end of their lurid activities.

As he neared his climax, Draco buried his head in her dark, straight hair as one of his hands gripped the bedsheets beneath them and the other cupped one of Pansy’s breasts. Pansy held tightly to the headboard that nearly pounded against the wall.

“I want you to cum,” Pansy moaned as she wrapped her legs around Draco’s hips.

A few moments later, Draco let out a gruff moan into her hair and his thrusting began to stagger and then stopped. They lay there taking in quick breaths as their bodies started to recover from their exertion.

After a few moments, Pansy’s dark eyes darted around the room in a slight confusion. “Um, are you going to get out of me?” she asked as she nudged his head slightly with hers.

Draco sat up and looked down at her with what appeared to be a slight smile—a look Pansy rarely saw from her longtime fuck buddy in any context. He then pulled out of her and lay down next to her. They both stared at the ceiling for a few seconds before Pansy sat up and started to get dressed. Draco rolled over and watched her.

“Why don’t you stay awhile?” he asked as he watched her naked body as she pulled on her underwear.

Pansy looked up at him with a slightly amused, curious look on her face before laughing. “Yeah, sure,” she said sarcastically, thinking he was joking.

“No, I’m serious,” Draco said, maintaining his pleasant look on his face.

As she put her bra on Pansy looked over at him with a less amused, incredulous look. “Um, no,” she said firmly.

Draco’s face immediately fell into his normal scowl, though he sported a slightly embarrassed look. “Fine,” he said coldly, and lay back down on his back to stare at the ceiling. If Pansy didn’t know any better, it appeared as if Draco was hurt.

“You’re acting strange,” Pansy noted with a slight incredulous laugh as she pulled up her skirt and hooked it. “What’s gotten in to you?”

“Nothing,” he answered coldly, and then turned his back toward her. “Close the door on the way out,” he said gruffly, indicating the end of their conversation.

“Fine,” Pansy said slowly as she quickly threw on her shirt and slipped her shoes back on. As she left, she didn’t say another word and simply shut the door softly to the Head Boy’s room.

Draco stared at the wall angrily with his jaw clenched as she left him there naked and alone.


	6. Chapter Six

The snow that was falling from the sky onto the already blanketed ground created a low rumble in the wind. Hermione sat in silence on a bench in the courtyard and let the snowflakes fall onto her. She was dressed in a light wool jacket with no other winter protection; her hair was beginning to dampen and freeze from the snowflakes that drifted down and landed in her mane. With each breath, she saw her essence escape in earthy bellows of fog. It was a Saturday afternoon, and she found herself captivated by the snow and the perfect, glimmering flurry underfoot.

“You’re going to catch a cold if you stay out here,” a voice said from behind her.

Hermione turned around and saw Ginny walking towards her. Ginny’s steps were heavy as she carefully made her way through the thick snow. “Hey, Ginny,” Hermione said, smiling.

Ginny made it over to Hermione and haphazardly cleaned off a seat next to her on the bench and then sat down. “Hello, Hermione.” Ginny smiled at her friend. “You’re not even wearing a hat!” the girl mused as she took in the sight of her friend.

 Hermione laughed a little, and put her hands to her hair to feel the dampness that had collected.

“Not even gloves?!” Ginny laughed and pointed at Hermione’s bare hands; Ginny was wearing a complete winter wardrobe, as if she might go on a long trek north.

“You’re becoming even more like your mum,” Hermione teased.

“Take that back!” Ginny laughed.

“Sorry, I only speak the truth!” Hermione laughed with her friend.

“So, what are you doing out here?” Ginny asked when their laughter died down.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said softly. “I just saw it snowing and I wanted to watch.”

“Well, you look a tad mental. It’s freezing out here!” Ginny whined as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Honestly, I was getting a little stir crazy,” Hermione confessed gently. “Sometimes, I think the Head Boy and Girl quarters are more suffocating than the old Gryffindor quarters.”

“Well, I don’t blame you,” Ginny said. “I don’t think I could take being around Malfoy for more than a few moments, let alone sharing quarters.”

“I mean, we don’t even interact very often. It’s just…confusing,” Hermione admitted.

“What do you mean ‘confusing’?” Ginny asked, with an inquisitive look on her face.

“Maybe it’s just natural,” Hermione continued as if she didn’t hear the girl’s question.

“What’s natural?” Ginny asked again, looking confused.

Hermione then seemed to be awoken from her trance and looked over at Ginny with a smile. “I’m sorry, I’m just talking to myself,” Hermione said shaking her head of her thoughts as if it were a Muggle Etch-a-Sketch.

“Are you okay, Hermione?” Ginny asked her friend with some concern.

“I’m fine, Ginny. Sorry to bother you. It’s just strange being around someone so much—especially when you’re supposed to hate him,” Hermione explained. “But you’re right—I am cold. We should get inside.” Before Ginny had the opportunity to ask her friend any other questions, Hermione stood up and started back to the castle, and Ginny followed. They passed by the empty spot where the destroyed bench used to lie, as a relic of Draco Malfoy’s fury. In the back of Hermione’s mind, she took note of its absence.

“So, where’s Harry?” Hermione asked. She was breathless from their slightly arduous march back.

“What? I can’t exist without him?” Ginny teased as her breathlessness matched Hermione’s.

“No! I mean, it is hard to get you alone,” Hermione admitted.

“Have I really gotten that bad?” Ginny asked sincerely.

“No, no, don’t listen to me,” Hermione said trying to cover her previous words—she didn’t want Ginny to feel bad. “Maybe, I’m just jealous,” she admitted humorously.

“Oh, well, in that case, good!” Ginny laughed as she opened the door into the castle. She knew her friend meant about her relationship in general and not about the person she was in a relationship with—everyone knew that Harry and Hermione just had a purely platonic friendship.

When they got in, they wiped the melting elements off their bodies and stomped their feet to rid the snow from shoes.

“I think I need a cup of tea and to sit by a fire now,” Ginny said resentfully.

“Sorry,” Hermione laughed. “Though, you really should buck up.”

“I hate the cold,” Ginny groveled.

“Obviously,” Hermione laughed again. When they finished ridding their persons of the snow, they looked at each other for a moment.

“So, do you want to hang out with us in Gryffindor?” Ginny suddenly asked, expectantly.

Hermione looked at the girl for a moment thoughtfully and then smiled. “Sure! But I think I should change—my clothes are rather wet,” she said. Though she was wearing a coat, its fiber and her exposed parts had absorbed a fair amount of moisture.

“Great!” Ginny beamed. “I’ll meet you back there. Everyone will be ecstatic!” Ginny said as she started excitedly back to the Gryffindor quarters. “See you soon!”

“See you soon.” Hermione smiled as she turned to return to her own quarters to change her pants, shoes, and take her jacket off.

Hermione strolled back to her quarters with a smile on her face. The visions of the falling snow and cold breeze had filled her soul with a feeling of optimism, and it seemed fortuitous for Ginny to come along. Now, for once, Hermione actually felt like being social with her fellow Gryffindor classmates as she felt slightly dizzy by her isolation, especially as her thoughts had taken a strange turn towards being somewhat considerate towards the Slytherin Head Boy. As she walked closer to the portrait door of the Head Boy and Girl quarters, she started to take off her soggy wool coat in preparation for her planned activities with her friends.

“Lucios lemos,” Hermione said cheerfully to the painting. The painting slowly swung open with the familiar screech as she held her weighty jacket in her hand.

“No! No! Fuck! No! NO!” screamed from deep within the quarters. The sound of glass shattering filled the air followed by masculine howls. The ruckus seemed to be coming from the shared bathroom up the stairway. More sounds of shattering glass filled the air as rhythmic hammering sounds.

Immediately, Hermione dropped her coat and ran towards the sound in a slight panic. As she ran into her room, Hermione swung open the unlocked door into the bathroom and found a shocking sight, which made her gasp. On the other side of the bathroom, Draco stood in front of the now shattered mirror, with thousands of pieces of his reflection scattered all over the floor. Hermione watched him angrily punch the mirror again—mostly hitting the wood underneath—as some of the remaining fragments of the glass fell as he screamed at his broken reflection.

“Malfoy, what’s going on–” Hermione began to ask, slightly hysterically. She watched him with wide eyes as he spun to look at the person who had just walked in on him. He looked wild: his nearly white blond locks chaotic from him pulling at them; his face pallid and covered in sweat; his mouth slightly agape as he took in fervid, shallow breaths; and his eyes reflecting more fear and panic that was consuming. He displayed more emotion than Hermione had ever seen in a person, and the vision in front of her almost made her feel embarrassed to share such a moment with someone like Draco Malfoy.

Suddenly, Draco lunged at her and Hermione stepped back, but before she could get out of his reach—which was her immediate reaction—his hands roughly gripped at the collar and sides of her button-up shirt. It was then that Hermione realized his hands were stained with blood, no doubt as a result from his relentless pounding of the glass mirror. He began to shake her, almost violently, ripping a couple buttons from her shirt. Hermione’s hands instantly went to grip his wrists that held her tightly.

“What color are my eyes?!” he bellowed at her in panic as he shook her. 

“Wh-What?!” Hermione cried out in bewilderment.

“WHAT COLOR ARE MY EYES?!” he screamed again as he shook her harder, his crimson blood staining her crisp white shirt.

“Gray! Gray! Your eyes are gray!” Hermione screamed back as she looked into his panic-stricken, glistening pools. Her face displayed shock and panic, but also incredulity as he desperately shook her for an answer.

With her answer, he seemed to let out a deep breath as if he had been holding it trapped within him like the demons that overwhelmed him. He had stopped shaking her violently but still clasped onto her shirt.

“They’re gray?!” he asked against desperately, this time softer as his voice cracked.

“Yes!” Hermione yelled back.

And then his face fell and he looked at the floor, and instantly Hermione heard the boy begin to cry. Her hands fell from his wrists—feeling almost intimate in the touch—but also in her shock at the developing scene before her. His breathing became quick and thin, coming out in bursts to match his sobs as he squeezed his watering eyes shut. He still clutched at her shirt and she felt the weight of his arms begin to pull at her as his body began to sink into misery. True disbelief filled Hermione at the sight of the Head Boy—the Prince of Slytherin, and her tormentor—weeping in front of her. The embarrassment she had felt before when she had come upon a panic-stricken Draco now seemed childish compared to the way she felt now; it almost felt like the scene before her must be a nightmare and she hoped to wake from it at any moment.

“Draco,” Hermione breathed.

He continued to sob, his face not meeting hers, but his body began to give out from the weight of his emotions and failing physical strength from his ordeal. He continued to clutch at the Head Girl’s shirt. As he began to slowly fall to the ground, he pulled her with him, and Hermione found herself sitting on her knees on the bathroom floor as Draco curled into a fetal position before her. With his hands still tangled in her now blood-stained shirt, he pulled himself close to her and rested the top of his head against her belly and continued to cry.

The emotions that overwhelmed Draco were almost like nothing he had felt before—except once last year where he found himself in fight or flight with Harry Potter and chose to duel it out with the other boy that nearly ended in his blood going down the drain. This time, however, he had come face-to-face with a non-hostile, and he immediately fell into despair rather than quick, violent, and useless action. The panic he had felt when he looked into the mirror was so consuming that the only way he could express the necessity of jumping out of his skin was to destroy his own reflection and bloody his own hands, as if to destroy himself. The fear, shock, panic, anger, and sorrow he felt was so resounding within his soul that his identity—and reputation—was of no consequence; he needed comfort, even if from a supposed “enemy”.

Hermione found herself gripped by the boy, his blood and tears staining her shirt as she sat on the floor with him as a prop in his misery. She was lost for words and even thoughts—her mouth was agape in her disbelief at the situation she found herself in and she could do nothing but remember to breathe. But not only had she become tongue-tied—which was a rarity for the bright witch—she was beginning to feel a pain within at the sight before her. The humanity she had seen before when she had watched Draco in the Common Room was magnified exponentially to a point where Hermione wondered if she had ever been part of a situation that was so intimate in its outpouring of true emotion.

“Draco,” Hermione breathed again; her voice was soft and somewhat consoling, and his name—his _real_ name—was all her mind could form. Her hands, which felt awkward, were at her side stiffly being held up as if not to touch the delicate person in front of her, but then she felt that she had to do something with them to ease the situation. Hermione reached out and with her right hand began to lightly stroke his hair in almost invisibly light touches—afraid of his reaction if her impulse was wrong. When she found that he did not react negatively, she began to add more pressure to fully stroke his hair in downward motions of comfort. The small amount of blood that was on her hands that had dripped down on his wrists where she had previously held him added to the light pink streaks that were already imbedded in his locks. It was only in this position that she noticed the streaks that displayed his previous frenzy.

She continued to find herself speechless, and she simply acted on her impulse to help him; she had never witnessed such abandon of sanity before as his eyes had displayed pure terror. Hermione felt like she had little option but to act as a means of comfort to a person, any person, even Draco Malfoy, who found him grappling with the demons of psychology.

They sat there for a while as Draco’s sobs became quieter. He eventually let go of her collar and he fell into her lap where he nuzzled his head as if into his childhood pillow. Hermione felt slightly embarrassed by their position, but realized that he was probably completely unaware of any possible questions of impropriety, so she felt it was inappropriate for her to assign those thoughts or feelings to the situation. She continued to stroke his hair, as it seemed to be calming him, and her other hand rested on the back of his shirt where she just let the weight portray her proximity and support.

As the initial shock of the situation settled within Hermione, and she looked down onto the boy who had been reduced to a crumpled pile on the floor, his hands bloodied and face wet with tears, she felt her feelings get the best of her. Within her, the empathy she had previously felt for the boy turned into sadness and she felt her hazel eyes fill with tears as her mind analyzed the deep despair that _the_ Draco Malfoy must be feeling. She felt heartbroken for him, and found tenderness in her touch and thoughts of him as he was broken before her, like the reflective glass that was strewn about the bathroom in symbolic disaster. Though she did not know the demons he was battling within him, she felt compassion as she watched those demons tear him apart. Tears fell down her cheeks as she continued to stroke his hair consolingly.

 _Draco_.

* * *

Draco realized it was late as he opened his eyes and the moonlight from his bedroom window rested upon his face. He was in his Head Boy bed, still in the clothes he was wearing before. For a few moments, he lay and confusedly wondered how he had gotten there and what had happened to explain why he had ended up in his bed, and then the memory flooded back to him. The last thing he remembered was being curled up in a ball on the frigid flagstone floor of their bathroom, his head in Hermione’s lap, and his arms wrapped around her waist as he cried himself into a dreamless sleep as chaos surrounded him.

His head was still pounding, and he found it was the familiar searing pain as if the broken shards from the mirror he had destroyed were slicing him into pieces for dissection. He groaned as he brought his hands to his head in agony. While he rubbed his eyes and head in a useless action to try and make the pain go away, he suddenly realized his hands did not hurt. In the darkness, he looked at his hands and inspected them as best as his eyes could and noticed there were no signs of the self-inflicted injury caused by the shattered mirror. Groaning again, Draco suddenly realized the part the Head Girl had in his panicked state; not only had she been there to be his comfort in his moment of need, but she had obviously not only helped him to his bed but healed his hands.

Though his memories and realizations were clear, his emotions were so spent and the pain in his head so raw that the voices that would normally be there to chastise, shame, and scream were quiet. He simply accepted the situation for what it was in that moment and sat up in his bed wondering what time it could be. Feeling around his nightstand, his hand came in contact with his wand that was left on the corner ready for him. Lifting the wand up, with a small wave the candles lit next to his bed. The glare of the flame at first hurt his weary eyes, but soon he found himself adjusted. On the nightstand he saw a glass of water was left and a small vial. With curiosity, he leaned over and saw a piece of parchment was left and read it.

_Drink this tonic. –HG_

Sighing, he quickly uncorked the small vial and downed the bitter liquid before gulping down the entire glass of water. Letting out a throating grunt as his dry and strained throat absorbed the cool liquid, he sat on the side of the bed as he tried to regain his physical bearings. As he felt the blood begin to circulate through him, the pain and stiffness that his limbs felt began to fall away. Suddenly, he realized his feet felt cool and he looked down and saw he was no longer wearing shoes. Within him he felt a twinge of annoyance at how considerate the Head Girl had been in her care for him.

As he felt his physical energy renew from the tonic, Draco noted he still felt numb emotionally as if all the feelings he was capable of feeling were spent and he was empty inside—he didn’t even have anything left for the shame, embarrassment, or anger he was supposed to feel. Leaving his wand behind, Draco stood up and heavily walked to the door of his room and opened it. A slight orange light lit the small hallway and stairs that led to the Common Room below, that had a half-spent fire blazing.

From the corner of his eye he caught candle light on the other side of the room where he found Hermione peering at a book as she stood up in front of his bookcase. Hearing the noise of his door opening, Hermione’s head whipped around to catch his eyes that looked down at her. Immediately, she closed the book and put it back in the bookcase as if she had been caught in the act, but Draco’s mind was so clouded and exhausted he didn’t think anything of the scene. Quickly, Hermione walked towards the stairway as if to meet him with her candle in hand. Draco slowly made his way down the stairway, his heavy steps, jostled clothes, and wild hair portraying his ordeal and exhaustion. Hermione watched him with anticipation, but remained silent.

“What time is it?” he asked groggily.

“I think about one o’clock,” she said softly.

“Why are you still up?” he asked as he came face-to-face with her at the bottom of the stairs. The candle light lit both of their faces in a secret ancient glow.

Hermione had changed her clothing, but had not changed into her pajamas as if she had previously been sleeping or expecting to sleep anytime soon. Her hair looked slightly wet as if she had taken a shower in the past few hours with her curly tendrils still wet and fragrant. Her face looked neutral, but her eyes were wide and attentive, and held no anger, hate, or disgust—which was what Draco was used to. She didn’t answer his question, and for a moment he just looked at her and realized that the answer would be embarrassing for both of them—she was waiting up for him. He didn’t know if she was waiting to interrogate him, but her silence made him think she was waiting simply for his benefit and not to squelch her curiosity.

Draco walked past her, the candle flame flowing in his direction as his form moved by, and sat down on one of the couches. He stretched his legs out and set them on the coffee table in the center with little regard for its historical significance.

Feeling awkward, Hermione walked over and sat on the opposite couch silently and set the candle down in the center when she couldn’t think of anything better to do. Though she had purposely stayed up figuring he might wake up, and maybe in a panic again, she had not thought about what to do—or say—when she did see him again.

Ten or so minutes passed, and Draco stared off groggily into the flames that were beginning to soften past their half-life, with his eyes filled with a tired melancholy. Hermione’s eyes switched between various places within the dorm in her feeling of awkwardness—the fire, the floor, the ceiling, and Draco in sly peeks. As it became clear that they could possibly sit in awkward silence forever, Hermione decided that she had fulfilled her purpose of verifying the Head Boy was okay—or at least better—and that it was probably time to go to bed.

“I’m going to go to bed,” Hermione said softly as she stood up, and took the candle holder in hand before peeking at Draco for a moment. When he did not look up from his gaze at the fire or respond, she started for the stairs. “Goodnight,” she said softly again as she turned and looked at him again for a reaction, which he did not give. Hermione went up the stairway, opened her bedroom door, and walked in, but before she closed it she heard his voice.

“Hermione?” she heard, and she peeked out to look down at him.

“Yeah?” she replied, as she looked out from behind the door. He turned his head to look at her from below, their eyes meeting.

“Thanks,” he said gently.

Hermione offered a slight smile and then closed the door slowly to her room as she felt a blush rise to her cheeks when her eyes quickly averted at his words of appreciation—words and sentiment she thought she would never hear from him. As she disrobed, dropped her clothes forgotten on the ground, put on a nightdress in distraction, and then made her way into her welcoming bed, her mind focused on her confused thoughts of the Head Boy—the Slytherin Prince and her long-time tormentor. She could not have fathomed events within such a short period of time could make her thoughts on Draco Malfoy shift so dramatically.

Her anger, annoyance, and even hate of him had shifted towards sadness, empathy, and non-hate of the boy. This shift in her feelings not only made her feel confused, but a little ashamed as she thought of what her friends—specifically Harry and Ron—would think of this. But then she remembered how secluded and different she had become from her friends in the past several months, and wondered if this is what life was all about—evolution, progress, and change. And these past months had really shown how different she was from her friends, even in her thoughts of the Head Boy. Unlike them, she didn’t hate him with such a passion that there was no reason or rationale—which was typical of both Harry and Ron.

Maybe, when she put her feelings of hurt from his cruelty aside, which as the years had gone by had become less painful—other than recently when he hurt her feminine ego—she really didn’t hate him as much as her friends had convinced her she had. Then, the feelings of shame subsided as she started to feel maybe in her maturity she was simply growing as a person, which even included forgiving those who seemed unforgivable. And then she felt her mind and body become calm and she drifted into a peaceful slumber.

 _Draco_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Beta Reader Free_Buckbeak.


	7. Chapter Seven

The sun was setting outside the castle, and in the boy’s Gryffindor dorm room there were no bustling students getting ready for dinner as per usual. Instead, Ron and Lavender lay in Ron’s bed post-coital. Jammed in the single bed, Ron took over a majority of the bed (with room to spare) leaving Lavender teetering on the edge.

Lavender sat with her arms crossed over her bra-clad chest and seemed to display some annoyance in her uncomfortable position. Ron lay naked in his bed with the blanket pulled up to his waist as he blissfully ate candies loudly with his chewing echoed in the empty room.

“Want any?” he offered as the sugar cubes rolled around in his wide open trap of a mouth.

Lavender quickly shook her head and her long blond curls shimmered over her shoulder in chaos. With that answer, Ron suddenly leaned over and grabbed some more snacks in his nightstand.

“Ah!” Lavender’s high-pitched voice screamed as she fell off the bed with a loud thud.

Ron obliviously turned over with candies in hand and peered over at her. “Alright there?” he asked with some humor.

Quickly, Lavender stood up and flipped her long locks over her head in exasperation. “That’s it!” she cried out.

“That’s what?” Ron asked as he popped more sweets in his mouth.

“I can’t take this anymore!” she cried in a huff as she stood there naked from the waist down.

“What are you cryin’ on all about?” Ron asked with confusion.

“What am I 'cryin’ on all about?!’” Lavender began in a high-pitched, sarcastic tone. “You, Ron! I can’t take this relationship—if you can call it that—anymore!”

“What?!” Ron exclaimed as he sat up quickly in bed.

Lavender started to gather up her clothes that had been quickly shed, except for the bra she still wore, and started to put them on.

“I don’t know what I was thinking when I got back together with you,” she huffed as if talking to herself as she put her underwear on and hitched her skirt up. “You’re just as selfish as you ever were, but now you’ve managed to make even sex boring!”

“Boring?! I think I’m alright!” he defended.

“Oh, really?!” she cried out as she bore her eyes into him. “I’m still wearing a bra, and it’s been, what, 5 minutes, _maybe_?!” she hollered.

“I told you, I only got the guys to leave for a little bit…” Ron weakly defended.

“You’re so selfish all you care about is _your_ gratification,” she continued to huff as she pulled on her blouse. “But guess what, Ron?” she mocked as she peered at him. “Sex involves two people! Perhaps all these years wanking it has made you forget that!”

* * *

Thirty minutes later as the students were making their way to dinner, Ron was talking to Neville outside the Great Hall. “Yeah, she broke it off with me right there! After all the trouble I went through to get you blokes to leave!” Ron spat angrily.

“I’m sorry, mate,” Neville said sympathetically. “Did she say why?”

“Well, between me and you, she said I was selfish and a bore,” Ron explained, laughing incredulously. Intentionally, he left out key details on how this affected his sex life. “And then she said something really strange,” Ron began. “She said ‘I couldn’t find the clitoris if my life depended on it.’ I’m telling you, she’s mental. What the hell—and where the hell—is ‘the clitoris’?” Ron exclaimed.

At that very moment, Seamus walked by and caught the very end of the conversation. Immediately, his mouth went agape and eyes went wide with bewildered amusement and he broke into a sprint into the Great Hall as if this new information gave him flight. “You won’t believe what I just heard!” Seamus announced as he went over to the Gryffindor table. Students were still filtering into the Great Hall and barely any Professors were present, making the room rather quiet. Most of the Gryffindor students, and even some of the nearby students of different Houses, looked up in anticipation for what sounded like some juicy gossip. “Lavender broke up with Ron, and it was because he couldn’t find ‘the clitoris’!” Seamus mocked as he put quotes around the anatomical wonder. Various students, particularly the older ones, broke out in amused laughter. Nearby, Hermione watched the scene in awe.

Ron and Neville walked into the Great Hall and everyone who had heard the conversation—which was most of the students—looked at Ron as he entered. Neville already seemed slightly embarrassed as he walked in with his head lowered, and Ron seemed flustered—possibly from the information he’d received from his well-read friend on his question about the female anatomy. Immediately, Ron felt their eyes on him and walked up to Seamus who was the only one standing up at the Gryffindor table. “What’s up?” Ron asked cautiously.

Seamus tried to calm himself to steady his words and voice from the laughter that was still trying to quake its way out of his body. Seamus slapped Ron hard on the back. “Just the guy we were looking for!” Seamus said, trying to hold in laughter. “So, after dinner we’re going to go searching for the elusive and scary _clitoris_! We’re thinking about starting in the Forbidden Forest! Want to join us, eh, Weasley? We heard you had some trouble finding it!” Seamus exclaimed, so that everyone could hear him in the Great Hall.

Laughter erupted in the Great Hall, and students who hadn’t been privy to the original conversation were now sniggering at their tables and pointing at Ron. Immediately, Ron’s face contorted in anger and he quickly pulled away from Seamus’s grasp. Ron glanced around at the students laughing at him before running out of the Great Hall in embarrassment.

Hermione couldn’t hold in the laughter that overwhelmed her as she witnessed the scene. She held her belly as the muscular pains shot through her from the strain of the amusement that racked her body. Hermione couldn’t remember ever laughing so hard in her life.

Ginny looked over at Hermione in confusion and Harry seemed slightly embarrassed, which revealed their innocence.

“What’s ‘the clitoris’?” Ginny asked sheepishly.

“Ginny!” Harry softly scolded as his cheeks turned red hot.

“Oh, Ginny,” Hermione laughed as she put her hand on the girl’s shoulder in a  sympathetic gesture.

 

* * *

 

“You’re weak!” Snape bellowed, as he sat at his desk and Draco sat across from him.

“I’m training! What else do you want me to do?” Draco answered back loudly. He was already beginning to look exasperated.

“We train more—harder and longer!” Snape yelled as he gripped his desk.

“No!” Draco exclaimed as he stood up, displaying fear and apprehension. “That’ll just make me weaker! It’s draining me of all of my energy. I can’t keep doing it! It’s going to kill me!” he protested desperately.

“No, he’s going to kill you! And if you don’t become stronger we’ll both be dead! ” Snape hollered, as he stood up to confront the desperate boy.

“How can I be weak?!” he questioned as the angst of his unanswered question plagued him.

“You’re weak because you’ve always been weak,” Snape started coldly, in a low tone. “You might be part of one of the oldest bloodlines, but your upbringing was pathetic and incomplete.”

“My upbringing–?” Draco questioned.

“Your father,” Snape quickly answered. “He’s the weakest of them all and you’ve seemed to inherit every bit of him.”

“Don’t talk about my father!” Draco warned hotly, as his face contorted in anger.

“Why? Do you think he has ears all the way in Azkaban?” Snape mocked. Though Snape could see the anger bubbling in Draco, he continued. “Which is right where he belongs—locked up with those mental cases. His whole life has led up to this point of being nothing but a vessel for the nightmares of the Dementors.”

Within seconds of those words leaving Snape’s mouth, Draco threw Snape forcefully against a wall with his hand against the man’s throat in threat. Snape quickly drew his wand from his robes, but Draco immediately smashed it out of his hand where it flew across the room. Draco sneered at his mentor with a fist pulled back ready, to punch him.

“Physical force, Draco? I bet your father taught you all about that, didn’t he? And you—life father like son, right? You’re just ripe for the nightmares to overtake you and consume your soul, too,” Snape said almost calmly even though he seemed completely helpless and vulnerable.

“My father is a great man!” Draco bit out, his eyes flashing with malice.

“Your father is no one, and he made himself that way. He defined himself as someone obsessed with status and purity, and now he has nothing,” Snape said lowly. “And you—just like your father—have nothing, which is why you’re weak. You define yourself just as your father does, but you’re merely an imitation of his image.”

“Shut up!” Draco shouted, as his arms shook with the physical force he was holding back.

“The truth hurts, doesn’t Draco?” Snape mocked as he yelled back in his face. “Now if you’re going to hit me, hit me!” he bellowed.

Draco gritted his teeth and tightened his fist as he glared at the man before him who was similar in size; however, Draco knew that physically, he outmatched his professor. With all of his strength, Draco’s fist flew forward. With a bang, his fist smashed forcefully as Draco closed his eyes. As he opened them, Snape’s calm eyes looked back at him—he appeared to not even flinch when Draco’s fist met the stone wall behind him. Draco let go of his mentor and turned around with a heavy sigh.

“ _Fuck_!” Draco seethed in anger.

“You don’t hate me, Draco,” Snape began lowly after some tense moments passed. “You hate yourself.”

Draco turned around and glared at his mentor with his jaw tight in anger. The waves of rage pulsated off of Draco as his gray eyes bore into the man before him, but he said nothing in defense.

Snape moved from the wall and straightened out his robes. He dusted off his left shoulder to rid his pristine clothing of the remnants of the ancient stone wall that had crumbled under Draco’s fist. When he completed his task he looked up again and met eyes with Draco. He appeared calm and calculating, as usual. “All you’ve ever done your entire life is what _he_ wants of you; you’ve never been a genuine person, which has made you a perfect target,” Snape explained calmly. “The only true thoughts or actions you’ve ever had you’ve probably felt remorse for disobeying. But part of adulthood, Draco, is disobeying; part of being a man is having the courage to become your own person, even if that means not becoming the man your father wanted.”

“I can’t just defy my family,” Draco argued.

“Your obedience is nothing but that of an abused dog; you only _submit_ because you’re afraid. You’ve always been afraid—a coward—and it’s the only thing that defines you. And that is why you’re weak. Your entire _existence_ is predicated on the idea of becoming only what others want you to be,” Snape said lowly. “And your malice and hatred is simply a reflection of what you feel for yourself. There is no way you can win this battle if you don’t want to; and you can’t want to win if you have no reason to live. You can’t live just for your family’s sake, Draco. You must want to live for _yourself_ , and you can’t do that if you hate yourself,” Snape said softly, a hint of sympathy showing. “Your fight—our training—in itself is a true act of defiance. So haven’t you already proved that you can exist in defiance of your blood, your purpose, your father?”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Draco bit out angrily.

“Yes, yes you do. You could just give up. You certainly don’t care enough about me—nor should you—to stay alive just because of me,” Snape said casually.

“I don’t want to give up,” Draco said lowly.

“Why?” Snape shot back.

“Because I don’t want to die!” Draco yelled.

Snape stepped forward and his eyes bore into the young man before him. “Prove it.”

* * *

It was the last day before Christmas break and the school was buzzing with students packing and celebrating. Hermione was finishing packing her suitcase for the vacation in her dorm room as the sun began to set, filling the room with an incandescent hue. As she levitated her case down the stairway from her room and set it down the floor in the Common Room, she went over to her desk and bookcase and started to gather up what she wanted to take home.

“Oh,” Hermione said quietly to herself as she realized she still had a library book. “I guess I better return this,” she sighed.

She took the book in hand and walked out of the Common Room into the hall towards the library. Her steps were spirited as she felt anticipation for the winter holiday she would be spending with her family.

“Hi, Hermione! Happy Christmas!” a first year Gryffindor called when she saw Hermione in the hall.

“Happy Christmas!” Hermione responded. She turned around to greet the first year fully but continued walking. Suddenly, her back ran into another person. “Whoops, sorry!” Hermione began as she turned around to apologize to the person she had run into. “Oh, it’s you, Ron,” she said, with slightly less enthusiasm.

“Well, you don’t have to sound so down about it,” Ron said dejectedly.

Hermione offered Ron a shrug. “Sorry,” she said, again in a similar tone. “I’m on the way to the library, so I can’t really talk.”

“You’re always on the way to the library. What are you doing this time?” Ron asked as he snatched the book out of her hand. “What is this?” he asked suspiciously.

“I’m doing research again—Harry asked,” Hermione explained quickly as she reached for the book.

Ron pulled the book out of her reach and started to flip through the pages. “Oh, he did, did he? And why didn’t I know about this?” he asked antagonistically.

“I don’t know. I told him to tell you–” Hermione began.

“Oh, I’m sure you did,” Ron said sarcastically. “And what’s this?” he asked as he came upon a piece of parchment inside the book. He held it up and started to inspect it.

Hermione instantly realized it was the page she had found in the library on “Spiritual Displacement”—she must have left it in the book by accident. “Give me that back; it’s important!” Hermione said as she tried to grab for it.

With Ron’s height, he simply lifted the page above his head to keep it out of her reach. “What’s a ‘Horcrux’?” he asked, reading the parchment.

“A _what_?” Hermione asked, baffled, as she jumped up and grabbed the paper from his hand. She inspected the page confusedly.

“Right there,” Ron said as he pointed to the word he had been reading. “‘Horcrux’.”

“This…wasn’t here before,” Hermione whispered, almost to herself.

“What do you mean?” Ron asked. He began to look perplexed as he peered at Hermione who began to look bewildered. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to go!” she called as she ran off towards her dorm, leaving a confused Ron behind still holding her library book.

“What about this book?” he called. Hermione didn’t even look back as she sprinted away.

“Lucio lemos!” Hermione screamed at the portrait when she came to it after running frantically through the halls. The man in the painting furrowed his brow at her rudeness, but opened the door. It took everything within Hermione not to rip the door off its hinges; as soon as the gap was big enough for her to squeeze through, Hermione pushed herself through the opening and quickly into the Common Room.

Hermione made a beeline towards the bookcases—specifically Draco’s bookcase. She started to pull books out, and after verifying they weren’t the one she was looking for, she would drop them carelessly onto the ground with a resounding thud. She appeared to be on a mission, and that mission did not include respecting or caring about Draco’s property. She continued to pull book by book out until she came upon the one she was looking for—the same book she had been looking at nights prior when she thought Draco had caught her. Feverishly, she threw the book down on the desk and took her wand out. “Lumos,” she demanded, and the wand lit up. She started to almost rip the pages as she flipped through them frantically.

Nights ago, when she was waiting for Draco to wake up after his calamity with the bathroom mirror, she had begun to look over the books he had on his shelves in curiosity. Somehow, Draco had seemed less threatening, and the voice that made her cautious seemed to be mollified by his current weakened state. One book had caught her attention—it was a book she had never seen before. When she opened it and examined it, she noticed that there was an incantation inscribed in the beginning of the book. This incantation was something she had read about before: it was a revealing spell. Saying the spell, Hermione saw the words change within the book, but before she had a chance to examine it further, Draco had awoken and caught her in the act.

Now, as she peered at the page she had found in the library weeks prior that had seemed to be left for her, the page was different. It showed different words and even spells she had never seen before. The revealing spell she had incanted when rummaging through the ancient book in Draco’s bookshelf had also revealed hidden text when she was looking through it those nights ago.

Suddenly, she stopped her fervid flipping of the pages and a look of horror went over her face. She brought the torn page she had found in the library weeks ago from her pocket of her robe and placed it inside the book—it matched. The tears on the page matched up with the leftover sliver of parchment where the page had been forcibly removed; the page she had found had come from the very book before her.

As she took in the realization of the sight before her, suddenly a memory came back to her and she found herself sprinting to her room. Her breath was ragged and her hair wild as she began to tear through one of her trunks as she dug deep into the physical manifestation of her memories of her years a Hogwarts. Near the bottom, she found what she was looking for. Taking the parchment in hand, she again sprinted down the stairs and went straight to Draco’s bookcase again.

In a desperate frenzy, she again began to pull books out and quickly read their titles. When she didn’t find what she was looking for in the bookcase, she got on her hands and knees and urgently searched through the books she had already pried from the case that were scattered on the floor. Suddenly, Hermione came upon the book she was looking for and she pointed her lit wand at it. She began to flip through the pages as she looked at the parchment in her hand as a reference.

Then her eyes went wide as her breath hitched in her chest. Her heart began to pound as adrenaline flooded her system with shock and panic. “Oh my God,” she choked out, as her hand covered her mouth in horror.

* * *

Draco left Snape’s office with more questions than answers, and he felt the anger that Snape had simmered within him with his bold criticisms. He told Snape what had happened the other night in the Head Boy/Girl bathroom—though leaving out the part with Hermione—it had not gone exactly as he planned. Draco had anticipated some aggression from his mentor, but the biting and cruel analysis of Draco’s—and the Malfoy’s—shortcomings were almost unforgiveable; however, within Draco, he thought Snape’s word may deserve consideration.

Draco trudged his way back to his quarters to take a moment to blow off some steam before dinner. He knew that his “friends” would be particularly annoying and demand his attention the night before they all left for vacation. Draco also had to think of an excuse as to why he wouldn’t be leaving with them, though maybe they would assume the complicated nature of his family’s whereabouts might answer the questions before they’re asked.

As he walked through the halls, he narrowed his eyes in thought as his mind reviewed how he had almost come to assault the Head of Slytherin just moments before. As he clenched his jaw, the harsh words Snape said ran through his mind. His father was vain, and in many ways his attempt at vanity—through purity and status—was his only motivation. But as a Malfoy, that was all Draco was taught; however, as Snape laid bare the truth of his family’s reputation, it became clear to Draco how pathetic it really was.

However, even more concerning were the implications Draco’s upbringing had on him. Draco wondered if his source of weakness was truly a tortured aspiration to be more than what his father taught and desired; could his need to obey, but his secret desire to be more, be the factor that made him a target? If that was true, then the only way to become stronger, and be less of a target, was to no longer give in to his pathetic efforts to obey his father—and in essence, be his father—and to _rebel_.

Draco shook his head at the thought as he was unwilling to cross that bridge and submit to a future without his father’s approval. Even with his father in Azkaban, Draco could hear his father’s voice howling within his mind as his teachings echoed. This voice through the years had become more distinct within Draco’s mind as Draco was able to differentiate it from his own thoughts; however, as this happened and his father saw Draco develop more as an independent person, he was punished for any individual thought. Draco was usually quick to halt his own thoughts that were outside of his father’s teachings. The past several months had been particularly difficult on Draco as his fight for his life was not only weakening his resolve, but putting into question his devotion and dedication to the Death Eaters and his father’s teachings. Now, as he flagrantly rebelled against the wishes of the Dark Lord, Draco wondered how different he must be compared to his father. His father had been willing to go to Azkaban—and in essence, lose his soul—for the Dark Lord, but Draco was purposefully fighting against the dark magic that would make him lose his soul too. _Maybe_ , Draco thought, _I’m not like my father_.

“Lucios lemos,” Draco said angrily to the painting when he came to it.

The man in the painting seemed to glare at him, as did the rest of the party guests in the portrait. “You’re both rude,” the man in the painting said before opening the door.

Draco shot the painting a confused glance, before shaking his head as he decided he really didn’t care what the man had meant. As he walked into the Common Room, he noticed that the dark room only had a lone candle lit by his desk. Immediately, his eyes were drawn to the sight of the books that were strewn all over the ground. “What the hell?” he questioned as he surveyed the chaos and walked over the lit candle. For a moment his thoughts had ceased as he looked over the disarray.

Before him, his eyes noticed two books were laid out on the desk where the candle lit them in presentation, and Draco tilted his head curiously as he peered at them. The books were open to specific pages and previously crumpled pieces of parchment were laid out in the book, the ripped edges matching up with the tears in the book, indicating the pages had been ripped out. His mouth went agape and his face filled with bewilderment.

“Pipes,” he breathed as his fingers traced the word he had written on the book page he had hidden for her years ago.

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Beta Reader Free_Buckbeak.


	8. Chapter Eight

“Is that all you have to say?” a female voice said from behind Draco.

Draco spun around and watched as Hermione stood up from the couch on the other side of the Common Room. At first, she was just a dark figure that loomed upwards, but as she walked a few steps towards him, the low light from the one lit candle brought her details into focus. Her hair was wild—more wild than usual—and her eyes looked slightly red and puffy as if she had been crying. The school uniform she wore was shambled on her figure, with the white button-up untucked from her skirt and her robes hanging off of her shoulders uncaringly. Her visage demonstrated the chaos that was swirling in her eyes.

The bewilderment Draco felt made him tongue-tied as she walked towards him, and her eyes seemed to bore into him. The moment he prayed would never happen was upon him, and he was as unprepared to answer her questions as he had been the moment he left those pages behind for her to find. He looked her over, and felt the confusion bellow off her in waves; he couldn’t decipher if she was mad or sad, which made him further perplexed on how to respond.

“Are you going to say anything?” Hermione asked as she stepped up to Draco. The few feet between them were filled with anticipation as she looked into his face that was darkened by the shadow of the room. Her brow was furrowed and her mouth downturned as stared at him with accusation.

“I…” Draco faltered. Instead of the usual scowl, his face seemed more candid, as if he didn’t have the wherewithal to censor himself; too shocked and bewildered to muster his pose, he just stared at her as if staring into a mirror. “I…don’t have anything to say,” he said softly. The voices in his mind were screaming in discord; the various cries swirled in a confusing mess of panic, anger, and distress. As the silence continued to build between them as she looked up at him, her eyes pleading for answers, a voice came through that urged him to run away. “And…and I don’t have to say anything to _you_ ,” he bit out, and his normal scowl returned as his walls quickly went up in defense. Draco quickly brushed past her and bounded up the stairs to his room; his fight or flight instincts were on full blast, and he couldn’t muster the nerve within him to fight her, and himself.

“You can’t just run away!” Hermione cried desperately as she whipped around to watch him go. She ran to the bottom of the stairs and extended her left arm up the railing as if she was going to bound after him. “You…you have to have courage! You have to face challenges head-on! You can’t just pretend this didn’t happen!” she yelled at him. Tears started to gather in her eyes as she clenched her teeth in her rallying cry—those words were as much of encouragement for her as they were for him.

Draco stopped in his tracks, his back to her, as he held the door knob to his bedroom door, ready to open it, and escape from the scene below. Her words echoed in his head, and Snape’s words earlier whirled in his mind in unison. He gripped the doorknob tightly within his hand as he willed himself to turn it and run, but he felt stuck by his own destiny before him. Clenching his jaw, he let go of the doorknob and slowly turned around to face her. In the darkened room, the low candle light only lit his features in sharp shadows that highlighted the grimace on his face as he was about to face demons he had fought to ignore since he was a child.

He took in her wild hair, her pleading face, and her disheveled outfit, and saw the epitome of angst and chaos. Though he had turned around to face her, he still heard shrieks within for him to run away. But as he drank in her image, and heard her cries, he saw she too was fighting the same battle within herself. Though, he noted, it was just like Hermione Granger to face a struggle directly, even if she was scared, and could further be hurt by facing her challenges; staring back at him was the essence of the person that Snape had been calling for him to be: brave, strong, and willing to fight.

His hand tentatively met the stone banister as he slowly walked down the steps towards the bottom. Hermione backed up as he approached her, and she seemed to falter in her resolve as he came face to face with her. Like him, she did not know what to say, or what destiny had planned for them. To Hermione, not only could she not guess about the future, but she was completely unsure about her past.

“Wh-why didn’t you run?” Hermione asked after a few moments passed. Her voice wavered in her question, which was an impulse that she did not think through. Though the answer seemed unimportant, she felt the need to hear him say that he wanted to confront the truth that was ahead of them, if only to not feel alone in her pursuit of it.

“I can’t keep running,” Draco answered. His voice was low, almost tender, and his face began to mimic the desolation of the revelation as he looked upon Hermione. She exuded strength as she held back tears.

Another pregnant pause fell between them, and Hermione’s eyes pleaded for answers, and she soon realized she would have to ask the questions in order to get those answers. Within her mind, she too heard howls of voices that swirled with questions and accusation that were tainted with desperation, fear, anger, and anticipation.

“You left me the page in the library—the one this year…” Hermione began. She appeared to be hurt by the words that came out of her mouth, as each word seemed to ebb at her resolve to remain calm. “…and those years ago,” she whispered.

“Yes,” Draco whispered.

His answer, which was shockingly direct, hit Hermione like lightning, and she took a quick breath of air that seemed to be the only thing that kept her upright. She tried not to buckle from the weakness she felt through her limbs from the adrenaline that plagued her. After a moment, as she tried to compose herself to dredge on, she spoke again. “But why?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” Draco answered immediately.

“No, you can’t just cop out on this—you have to answer me!” she yelled. Again, she rallied for both of them to have courage and strength to face these hard truths. Draco seemed startled by her aggression again as she called for him to explain.

“What do you want me to say, Hermione?!” he yelled back.

She too seemed startled by his aggression, and she jumped back slightly away from him. Her demeanor at first seemed to weaken at his booming voice, but she again, with her Gryffindor courage, soldiered ahead. “The truth!” she called. “Why would you leave me this page?” she hollered as she took a few steps to the left towards the open books and clasped the page from the book with the information on 'Spiritual Displacement'. “What are you trying to tell me?!” she cried.

“You’re the one that’s supposed to be so bright—can’t you read?!” he yelled back. He seemed to garner the same belligerence he was known for, and his voice resounded in their quarters like it had in their previous other squabbles; as he easily fell into his normal hostility, he tried to protect himself from the truths he had denied for so long.

“Are you trying to tell me something about Volde–” Hermione began.

“Don’t say his name,” Draco interrupted, his features growing dark.

“Why? What are you trying to tell me?!” Hermione cried desperately.

Draco clenched his teeth tightly, and his masculine jawline protruded from his cheeks at the force. The glare in his eyes indicated that the path she was going down with her accusations was doing nothing but angering him. Seeing this, Hermione decided to abandon her pursuit for information on the page and decided she needed real answers. She didn’t want him to shut her out before she explored the more bewildering of accusations. Quickly, she grabbed the other page from the book. “And this?” she said more softly as she held up the page from their second year at Hogwarts. The page was worn and weak from the time it had spent crumpled in Hermione’s petrified hand before Harry had found it. She had found it in the library—which she never told Harry and Ron, though she thought it would be obvious that Hermione would never rip a page from a book—and it had revealed to her how to survive an encounter with the monster in the Chamber of Secrets.  “This told me about the Basilisk,” she whispered as tears started to gather in her eyes and threaten to spill over. She clenched her jaw and scrunched her brow to try and push back those vulnerable tears.

Draco looked at the page she held in her hand. His handwriting of “Pipes” in cursive was written on the bottom of the page, and memories of his younger self ripping the page from the book in his father’s collection and quickly scribing the words on it flew through his mind. He remembered leaving it for her at her desk, which she had claimed as her own their first year. He remembered insulting her to the point of tears out in the courtyard in one of their more aggressive run-ins. He knew she’d seek solace in the books in the library and find the secret page left for her. It was the first time he had called her a Mudblood. “I know,” he whispered—it was all he could manage to say. His mind was still whirling with voices that screamed that his memories, and her words, must be a lie—it was his father’s voice.

“Why? Why did you want me to find this?” she begged.

“Because you would have died, Hermione!” he yelled, angrily.

Hermione again seemed taken aback by his words and aggression as her arm fell to her side grasping the pages in her right hand. His booming voice, and his answer, made her feel weak. “So what?” she said softly, indicating her life didn’t seem to matter—or that it shouldn’t to him, at least.

“I wasn’t going to let you die, and be like bloody Moaning Myrtle—forever haunting the library in your desperate pursuit of answers to your afterlife of misery!” he yelled as thrashed his hands in bewilderment.

“Why do you care? I’m a _Mudblood_ , remember?!” she cried. A tear escaped her eye in her desperation.

“I don’t know!” he bellowed as he pulled at his hair in anguish. “I couldn’t just let you die!” He appeared unhinged in his desperation.

“But why?! How can you not know?!” she pleaded as she stepped towards him as she motioned her hands as if she was trying to hold onto her reason.

Draco began to pace slightly as he felt his emotions and the voices in his head bubble over, and he felt overwhelmed. His father’s voice, Snape’s voice, and his own voice, which usually was the weakest, but seemed to be rising above them all, resounded in his mind and began to tear away at his sanity.

“I don’t know!” he cried out again.

“Why would you try and save me, a _Mudblood_?! You hate me, you hate my kind; I’m unpure, unworthy, _without_!” she cried as she recited all the words and feelings she had throughout the years about herself displaying the angst she had felt. Tears were now falling down her face. She ground her teeth together as the words that left her mouth tore at her heart and soul.

“You’re not!” Draco suddenly shouted as he stopped in his tracks and his bewildered eyes bore into her.

Both of them appeared shocked by the words that tumbled impulsively out of his mouth. Draco seemed to struggle with the words, as their meaning began to penetrate his consciousness.

“You’re not…” he whispered as he looked down at the ground, his eyes far off in thought as began to absorb the truth of his sentiment. After a few moments, as his eyes seemed to search the vault of his mind, he looked up at her. His brows were furrowed in incredulity at the recognition of his thoughts. His mouth opened again as if he was going to speak, but then he closed it.

“What?” she asked softly. She looked broken, but her tears were beginning to dry as astonishment of his words began to fill her and repress the pain of her teenage angst.

“I never meant any of those things,” he finally admitted. “I mean, I don’t know if I meant them!” he leveled desperately, displaying his confusion as he paced for a moment. He felt unwilling to contend that every interaction with the girl was a fabrication—he was, after all, aggressive in his interactions in general. “Things aren’t that black and white,” he finally said.

“Yes, it is. You either meant it, or you didn’t,” Hermione said as she gestured her hand to display two columns of reason.

“No, it’s not that easy! Maybe in your world you can just do and say whatever you like; for me, it’s so much more complicated than that,” he explained with frustration. In his mind, the voices were beginning to quiet as one came forward as the victor: his own, as he came to one truth: “I just know the times when I was the cruelest,” he explained, “were the times I wanted you to find those pages; I knew you would go to the library if I hurt you enough.”

Hermione’s left hand went to her mouth to stifle the ragged gasp that came at his words. The same look of shock she had when she discovered he had left those pages came over her face again as another piece of the puzzle came into place. She remembered the times he was the cruelest, in her memory, were the times she found those pages waiting for her in the library.

“Everything about you,” he explained in exasperation—now that his true voice was speaking from within, he found it hard to censor himself, “and everything my father said, taught me that I should hate you. But when I realized that the Chamber of Secrets was reopened, and a Muggle-born was going to die again, the voice that said ‘I wished it was you,’ was just the words my father would want me to say. Even after I said it to Crabbe and Goyle–” he began.

In Hermine’s mind, she remembered the story that Harry and Ron had told her when they had used the Polyjuice Potion, becoming Crabbe and Goyle, to interrogate Draco about the heir of Slytherin. His harsh words always resonated within her as a reason to hate the boy.

“–I realized I didn’t really mean it. And then the idea that you could die hit me, and I knew I had to stop that from happening—that’s why I left you that page to warn you,” he continued to explain.

His words blew through Hermione’s soul like cold air; it seemed to weaken the part of her that used to be so full of ire for the Slytherin Head Boy. She was now full of feelings she could not identify, and the very thought of identifying these feelings was too frightening to fathom. All she could do was look at him with awe. He appeared more genuine, vulnerable, and honest than she had ever seen him before; it was as if an entirely new person was in front of her, and it shocked her to the core that it was Draco Malfoy—the boy that was supposed to be her tormentor and enemy. But the revelations before her put into question everything she had ever thought about him, and it appeared everything he had thought about her.

“I-I could have figured it out,” Hermione said as she found herself feeling slightly defensive that he didn’t seem to believe she was capable. In truth, her words were impulsive as part of her desperately wished their conversation was a simple argument that they usually had; the truth and depth of their discussion were difficult for her to accept and continue. But her voice was weak and portrayed she wasn’t really looking to fight. Her left hand fell from her mouth as she tried to push through her bewilderment.

Somehow, Draco actually smiled slightly at her remark, as if he found her childish response charming. But then his smile quickly faded. “I couldn’t take that chance,” he said softly.

“Did…” Hermione began but then stopped as she regarded him. She decided the question was too important to not ask. “Did you know about Ginny? Did you know about Tom Riddle’s diary?”

“Of course not!” he defended.

“Then how did you know about the Basilisk?” Hermione asked, further pressing the issue, as this was possibly her only chance to get these answers.

“Just like you, I often go to books for my answers. I received Head Boy just like you did—I’m not a total idiot like Weasley,” he explained gruffly. He gestured to his bookcase nearby that was full of his family’s books.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed slightly at his insult to her friend, but she quickly moved past it to analyze his explanation. It appeared that Draco was just as in the dark as they were about the Chamber of Secrets; therefore, he used the only resource he had his disposal to find an answer, just like Hermione had: books. Luckily for Hermione, Draco’s repertoire of books held much darker and secret histories than were available in the library. Hermione imagined all the books all the Malfoys would have collected, through pomp and circumstance, and through their inane attempt at vanity through the purchase of rare literature at places like Borgin and Burks. It was a wonder they had survived the purge of dangerous items by the ministry. It was there that he had found the dark answers to the dark questions everyone had. Deep in Hermione’s mind, she felt impressed with his abilities.

They both looked emotionally broken as they gazed into each other’s eyes as the revelation of Draco’s secret influence came to light. Draco looked just as worn down from the shock of his own truth as Hermione did.

“Why now?” Hermione suddenly asked. “Why couldn’t you just tell me back then? Why did you use this,” she said holding up the pages again in her right hand, “to tell me?”

Draco sighed. He closed his eyes as if he was gathering up strength to push ahead in her inquiries. “What? As if we were friends?” he said sarcastically. “Would you really have trusted anything I said? You probably would have accused me of being the heir to Slytherin and that I had opened up the Chamber,” he explained gruffly.

Hermione thought about his words and nodded her head in acknowledgement that what he said was most likely true; back then, in her hatred for the boy who called her ‘Mudblood,’ she probably would have never trusted him. She did not have the maturity or rationale she had now, at the age of 18, to review her own prejudices to have understanding and compassion. “You’re probably right,” she admitted and mustered up a small smile. “Did you ever plan on telling me?” Hermione questioned boldly. Since they were already so far into this ordeal, she let her thoughts flow from her mouth with little analysis.

Draco stood there for a moment and regarded the girl, who had seemed to calm slightly from her previous bewilderment. As his mind churned her questioned, a frown appeared on his face as he shook his head no.

“Why not?” she asked brazenly, again.

“Because,” Draco began, but then closed his mouth as he thought about his words. A pregnant pause stretched between them as he looked at the Head Girl before him, the softness he felt for her reflected in his eyes as he regarded her. “Because I would never admit it to myself,” he said softly.

Hermione looked perplexed at his answer and tilted her head in question as her eyes tenderly urged him to continue. “Why?” she asked softly.

“Because, Hermione!” he started aggressively. “I’m a Malfoy, and I say and do as I’m told. Anything other than this is blasphemy, and an affront against my name, and my father.”

“Then why do this?” she asked desperately holding up the pages again.

“Because I guess I’m not as good as a Malfoy—or son—as I thought I was,” he said softly. “And now,” he sighed, “I have no idea who I am.”

A silence stretched between them as they regarded one another with broken weakness. Hermione’s whole being displayed how defeated she was, from her hair to her glistening eyes and shambled clothing. Draco, however, looked almost calm except for the furrow in his brow and the melancholy in his gray eyes; instead of having a deep scowl on his face, as per usual, he regarded the Head Girl with a sad grimace of empathy, for they both were fighting through their demons. He had answered her questions, but they were still no closer to a conclusion. In her eyes swirled a question of what the meaning of it all was, but he didn’t know the answer. In the end, he simply had one last question, as if to the universe, or to himself. “If I can’t believe in myself, what can I believe in?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said softly. She had no answers, and now she only had one question. “If it isn’t true that you hate me, then what is the truth?”

And there it was—the real question. And again, Draco was at a loss for an answer. “I don’t know,” Draco whispered.

They only were a couple feet from one another, and their desperate eyes bore into each other’s souls as the moments stretched through the thick air between them. The shadows that had painted the scene of their outpouring of pleas and revelations felt stifling between them as Draco regarded the flickering candle light that shone from beside them at the desk. Her glassy eyes shimmered in the dancing light, and he realized he could still see the fiery shimmers of gold illuminating out from her stare. He remembered how he felt when he had come upon her looking out her bedroom window in silence as the ruminating dusk colors filled her vision and calmed his soul. And even now, as she looked at him through defeated, glassy eyes that displayed the hell they had gone through—together—he was still reminded of the secret yearning within him. And then an impulse began to grow in him, and it was an impulse that could only be truly his own—uncorrupted by any other voices or influences. It was then he decided to trust it, have courage, and be strong. _Fuck it_ , he thought.

Suddenly, he closed the gap between them and his lips came crashing down on hers in an impassioned kiss as his hands cupped her face tenderly and desperately. His eyes clamped shut as he reveled in the feeling of his lips against hers while he could, prepared for her retaliation at his impulsive action.

 

* * *

 

 

**Chapter Note(s):**

Special thanks to Beta Reader Free_Buckbeak.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Beta Reader Free_Buckbeak.


	9. Chapter Nine

The darkness of the Head Common Room was interrupted only by a lone candle that flickered by the window that looked out into the winter night. It illuminated two open books that shared torn pages. The pion of light drew sharp shadows over the room, making the darkness feel suffocating between the sheers of brightness. Between these sheers of radiance and masses of gloom were two souls fighting their way back towards the light; heavy whispers from their souls and the depth of confessions weighed heavily in their minds, leaving them stuck between two realities.

Night was ever present in the calmness out their window, where the world was unchanged. Snow drifted down in small flakes, its calmness oblivious to the restlessness inside.   The air between the two bodies was heavy; it hummed with the ghosts of the words that had echoed off the ancient walls—walls that held the secrets of those that lived there before.

Inside Draco’s mind, the howling of the forces of his past were suddenly suppressed by a voice he was not used to listening to: his own. The absurd impulse that his mind pushed forth should have made Draco flee, but he found himself brought in by the idea that his options were spent, and all he had left was trust—trust in himself, trust in the shadows, and trust in the light.

 _Fuck it_ , Draco thought as he felt his impulses overwhelm him, and he brazenly thrust forward into the shadows between them to hold the soft skin of Hermione’s face in his palms and press his lips into hers.

Draco’s large, firm hands cupped her dry tear-streaked face tenderly, but with force enough to press her forward into the kiss, making her stand upon tiptoe. His lips pressed against hers softly—softer than she would expect for his sudden, bold action. The pages from the books, that told more of a tale than their words portrayed, fell from her fingers onto the floor, forgotten.

Astonished, Hermione gasped into his kiss as her breath seemed to crystalize. The feeling flooded through her chest as it radiated from her heart, across her torso, and down her arms. It made her weak, body and soul; her mind became even more clouded as the shock of the action pushed away her rationale and logic. Left within her was nothing but pure instinct. She had a choice: trust her impulses, or run. Without even thinking, her Gryffindor courage chose for her. Suddenly, she moved her lips against his, kissing him back, and brought her hands up to tenderly wrap around his neck. Her heart began to pound at the realization that they were intimately kissing—something she would never thought would happen in her wildest dreams, or nightmares.

As the confessions had continued, she felt all of her thoughts grow into an overwhelming mess of horror, bewilderment, and denial; so full of emotions and adrenaline, she felt her mind guided only by impulse, and she decided to trust it. To trust herself, and to trust him; after all, this whole time he had been there for her—he had even saved her life. The truths in their confessions overwhelmed her with a sense of destiny. This was all there was left to do.

Feeling her lips begin to move against his, and her small, soft hands press against his neck and jaw line, Draco immediately let out a quiet moan of relief at not finding himself hexed. But the reality that she had reciprocated hit him, and he felt a shock he wasn’t really expecting; though he had initiated the kiss, he wasn’t exactly ready for the reality of it. But then the feeling of shock that swam through his veins suddenly turned into excitement, and he trusted the feeling that had never steered him wrong before. It was the same lusty exhilaration his teenage puberty had set him up for, but there was something even more intoxicating that suddenly sprang forward. The excitement wasn’t just about the act itself, which he had to admit drove most of his encounters with women. It was who it was with this time. Hermione wasn’t just some Hogwarts tart, lusty not only for his sex but his status; Hermione was the Gryffindor Princess of virtue, courage, and strength. She was a person, and in these secret moments of complete honesty and revelation, he realized that he was more exhilarated by the prospect before him.

Deepening the kiss, he began to quickly, but softly, move his lips into an open pattern until their tongues could touch. When his soft tongue met hers, and she was kissing back with as much fervor, Draco’s arms wrapped around her waist and pressed her body intimately into his. He could feel her soft curves under her bulky uniform when their bodies met, and he let out a small moan at the contact.

The thoughts in his mind were drowned out by the humming of sexual arousal. When he gave into his impulses, he let the irrationality of their ordeal, the truth, and his secret lust consume him, leaving his discrimination, past, and father behind; the howls of denial, revelation, and fear were whirling deep in his mind as his libido took over. In his arms, against his body, pressed against his lips was _the_ Hermione Granger, and he felt a stirring of eroticism he had never felt before. This was so forbidden, so unbelievable, and he immersed himself in it just in case it was a dream.

Hermione moaned as their bodies melded into each other, and the frenzy began to grow in her mind—she knew it was lust. Though she had never really experienced it so purely with another person, she immediately recognized the feeling. Even though lust was irrational—especially in this situation with _the_ Draco Malfoy—and she knew if she was in a more emotionally restrained place she would probably halt the mayhem at the beginning of their passions, she found herself intoxicated by it. As their lips pressed desperately against each other, their tongues intermingling, her lust swelled, awakening within her. The feeling was so strong and pleasurable, Hermione didn’t want it to stop—she wanted to go further. Everything about the situation, from him, to the candlelight, to the actions themselves felt so forbidden that she felt a rush of excitement. She knew it was irrational, but her sensuality pushed her forward to continue.

As they began to further devour each other, their passions growing between them, the salacious lust began to devour their souls until there was nothing left but sexual impulse. Hermione found her hands sliding down his masculine jawline, neck, and chest in sensual sweeps to the buttons of his shirt. Delighted there was no tie to deal with, her nimble fingers began to pull at the buttons of his shirt. Draco soon realized that Hermione indicated she wanted to go further, and nothing excited him more. Though, with only a couple buttons down, Draco felt the sexual urge to undress her instead. Without breaking their kiss, his hands pushed off her Gryffindor robes from her shoulders. Hermione arched her shoulders and put her arms down so the article could slide down onto the floor. Instantly, Draco’s fingers went to the tie around her neck where he began to try and pull it apart. After a few moments of his fingers frantically fumbling with the tight knot at Hermione’s neck, he broke their kiss to look down at the taut material.

Hermione looked down and laughed, before her hands went up to undo the knot for him. Her small fingers slipped through the entangled cloth and she pulled the knot apart. As soon as Draco saw the knot loosen, he frantically pulled the tie apart and threw it to the floor, displaying his annoyance with the garment. It was then their eyes met for a moment, and he saw within her hazel eyes the same anticipation and lust that he felt. They were both intoxicated by whatever destiny had in store for them—trusting every motion forward. They were in this together, and something about that made it more intimate. The look in her eyes—something he never imagined he would see—made his arousal seem primal as he felt his cock harden. Draco once again closed the distance between them and passionately kissed the Head Girl, and she returned the kiss with just as much enthusiasm. His fingers again went to her shirt where he began to unbutton, but after one button, and his frustration growing, he suddenly ripped at the shirt, the buttons bursting brazenly.

Gasping at his sudden aggression, Hermione broke the kiss to look down at her shirt that was destroyed, and her white bra-clade breasts exposed. She looked up at Draco, her mouth slightly agape at his erotic desperation to disrobe her, and she felt her lust begin to grow even more intensely within her. Though his aggression was not something she particularly enjoyed before, his sexual expression turned her on. Now that her shirt was open, she pulled at it and let it fall from her arms onto the ground, with her robe and tie. Standing in just her white bra and skirt, she looked up at the Head Boy. Her hair was wild as it was before, but in her state she looked wild with primitive sexual thirst.

Draco regarded her in front of him, in her intimate lingerie and wildness, and decided she was the sexiest thing he had seen in his entire life. As her fingers went to his shirt again where she began to nimbly unclasp the buttons, he stared at her form as he unconsciously breathed in her scent. Even though he felt impatient in her motions, the fact that she was undressing him made him even more aroused. When she finished with the buttons, Draco quickly shrugged off the crisp button-up shirt. Realizing he was wearing a white tank underneath, he reached down and pulled up the shirt that was tucked into his trousers. He pulled it over his head and threw it away from them.

Before Hermione was Draco’s chiseled and matured form, and she was in awe of his stature and physique. He was athletic and strong, and the outlines of his taut muscles, though not tremendous, were notable on his slender form. She felt her breath shallow at the sight of him, as the salacious hormones were pumping through her system towards her erogenous zones. After taking in the sight of his body, her eyes went up to meet his face. His attractive face—though she would have never admitted it before—was captivating to her with his masculine jawline and striking gray eyes. They were the same eyes she was forced to look into in his panic nights before—eyes that were etched into her memory. And now his gray eyes were full of an enthrallment of sexual anticipation at the sight of her. This time she pushed her feet up onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his as the flesh of their chests met.

Draco wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed her against his body. The feeling of hot flesh against one another was overwhelming, and he felt the arousal bubble over within him. The impulse of his sex moved him to grab the Head Girl and push her towards the bookshelf on the side of the Common Room. The lone candle lit their forms as he pressed her against the shelf, making the books rattle behind them as their pelvises met. His erect member, strained behind his trousers, pressed against her lower belly as he lightly thrust himself against her. His hands clutched the flesh of her lower back as their lips deeply ravaged one another. Their hearts pounded against each other as their chests pressed together, and their flesh began to dampen with sexual heat.

Feeling his pelvis against her, Hermione found herself wanting to feel him against her sex. She lifted her left leg up to pull her pelvis forward towards his so he could fully press against her. His right hand immediately slid down from her back to her hip and to her fleshy thigh, where he held it up to help pull her hidden sex up against his. He pressed himself against her, feeling the heat between her thighs radiate onto him. Draco moaned into her mouth as he slightly thrust his erection against her in unbridled arousal. Hermione’s hands delved upwards into his blond locks were she forcefully gripped him. She returned the moan of arousal to him as she twirled her tongue against his.

Breaking the kiss, Draco’s lips traveled down her cheek towards her neck where he began to kiss, nip, and suck at her flesh. Hermione’s grip on his lock softened to allow his movements as he passionately suckled and bit at her skin. He was somewhat rough with his exploration, but the feeling of his teeth against her hot, glimmering flesh just enticed Hermione more.

“Oh my God,” Hermione breathed as he sucked on her flesh and gripped her thigh. She moaned as he bit her harder and sucked, not concerned for any visible love bites he might leave behind.  
Her skin was salty and sweet in his mouth as he sensually sucked and nipped at her. He felt the need to taste her flesh as his senses screamed to be consumed by her completely. Their sexual impulses were at a head as he felt the urge to fully consummate their arousal overwhelmed his every thought. But even in their passion, he knew what was happening was absurd, and he needed to know she was as willing to succumb to it as he was.

“Should I stop?” he mumbled into her hot flesh as he kissed up and down her neck to her cheek, and then her mouth, where he passionately kissed her again. “Hermione,” he breathed between kisses. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked louder, his eyes opening to meet hers as he broke their kiss. Her hazel eyes were sexily narrowed and ablaze with passion as she looked back at him. There was a familiar haze in them that displayed the same fog that had fallen over his mind. But she didn’t falter.

“No,” she breathed instantly, and pressed her lips against his in a doubly impassioned kiss with her hands tangled in his hair. Her words set off fireworks in her mind at the shock that she had consented to sex with him, but the feeling made her even more aroused. She knew it was it was against the rules; she knew it was disloyal to her friends; she knew it was irrational. But she knew she really meant it—she wanted to do it.

He moaned loudly into his kiss at her consent as he kissed her deeply. His erection was almost painful between his legs now, as the anticipation of the impending sexual activities had been confirmed as a reality. They remained kissing deeply for a few moments as he pressed his hard body against her soft one, but before long his hands went to deftly unhook her skirt, displaying his familiarity with the girls’ Hogwarts uniform. Hermione dropped her left leg from his hip as he pulled the garment from her and the skirt fell to the ground. Hermione then quickly kicked off her shoes leaving her standing in her white panties, bra, and socks.

Hermione could feel the ancient books behind her, and the smell of their parchment filling the air between them. The smell that had been so comforting to her for so many years took on a new meaning as she was devoured by the Slytherin Prince in just her knickers. Her mind felt empty, yet so full of emotions and sexual impulses that she felt possessed by her humanity. Never had her thoughts and rationale been so silent, and she felt exhilarated by the freedom.

Skillfully, Draco’s hands went behind Hermione’s torso to unhook her bra. Feeling the pressure of the garment fall from her, Hermione let her hands fall away from his tousled hair to allow him to pull it off her body and down her arms to the floor. Immediately, Draco’s hands went to Hermione’s breasts where he cupped her soft flesh. In unison, they let out throaty moans into each other’s mouths at the feeling.

Leaving her mouth, Draco again began to travel down Hermione’s neck towards her angled collar bones to her bare chest. Her breathing was deep and quick as his lips met the soft flesh of her bosoms. Quickly, Draco dropped to his knees and brought his hands up to her breasts where he pressed them forcefully in his hands before burying his head between them and took in her scent. His wet, hot lips kissed her skin before finding an aroused nipple that he popped into his mouth and sucked.

Hermione’s hands went to Draco’s hair again as his mouth and hands appreciated her body. Never had Hermione felt such honest sexual expression before. Even with Ron, he never really explored her body and she had found herself almost clothed each time they had sex. Her body had never felt sexier than in this moment as Draco so fully worshipped her—so overwhelmed with her that he was on his knees to fully hold, kiss, and suck on her flesh.

“Fuck, Hermione,” he whispered deeply as he squeezed her breasts in his hand and kissed her up and down her chest and torso. Draco was so enticed by her flesh that he felt the need to properly adore it, in case this was his only chance. It was almost as if he had never really experienced sex before; their passion was so mind-altering and intoxicating that it seemed like an entirely new experience, and they hadn’t even had sex yet. Experiencing all of her was his only thought.

Getting to his feet, Draco pressed his wet lips against hers again as he rubbed his palms against her now fully erect nipples. He delighted in the way she was moaning at his attention to her body. They kissed deeply for several moments as the sexual frenzy still began to build. Draco felt Hermione’s fingers against his stomach as she began to pull at the clasp of his trousers. Within moments, she undid the button of his pants and unzipped them. Draco then broke the kiss and then stepped out of his shoes, socks, and pants, discarding them onto the floor. Now with the distance between them, Draco’s mind calculated what to do next.

Suddenly, Hermione felt his hands on her hips as he pushed her over towards the desk. He pressed her against the tabletop, indicating that he wanted her to sit on it. Pushing herself onto the flat surface, she sat on the edge of her school desk as the lone candle shimmered on Draco’s desk next to them. Now only in his tight boxers, Draco again found her mouth on his, their tongues together. His hands stayed on her hips as he pulled her towards him so their pelvises met.

It was then that Hermione felt the true girth of his erection against her sex for the first time. With no imposing skirt or trousers between them, the outline of their sexes could be fully appreciated through the thin material of their undergarments. Hermione moaned as his hardness pressed against her hot and already wet sex. Feeling bold, Hermione’s hands ran down his hard chest and stomach towards his member. There, Draco assisted her in pulling the tight clothing from his pelvis until it joined the rest of his clothing on the floor.

With impulsive curiosity, Hermione broke their kiss and looked down at the now naked Slytherin Prince. She gave a slight gasp at the sight of him. Hermione felt herself bite her lip, and her eyes went to look at his face. There he presented a slightly cocky smirk at the sight of her astonishment. But he didn’t let the moment last as he again enveloped her mouth in a deep kiss. Now naked, Draco’s hands went down to her hips where he began to pull at the white panties that were the only thing that stood in the way of his resolve. He pulled at the material, Hermione lifting her hips slightly to aid in his effort. He broke the kiss as he helped the journey of the garment down her shapely legs, pulling off her knee socks as he went, and then off on the floor. It was then he noticed her beautiful legs, he kissed up her knees to her thigh before standing up fully to kiss her deeply again.

He had gotten a glimpse of her curls between her legs and felt a rush of arousal. Hermione brought her hands to his neck and collar bones as they kissed, and she spread her legs for him to press forward. She felt the brush of his cock on her cunt, and she moaned into his mouth. As his hands went down to position himself for penetration, Hermione leaned back slightly to press her hips forward and lessen the pressure of the surface below her.

It was then Draco pulled away from their kiss and locked eyes with her. As he pressed the tip of his cock against her opening, their eyes bore into one another as the peak of their sexual exploits was before them. Hermione licked her lips and took in a deep breath before nodding her head to provide further consent for him to continue. Both of their minds were wild with anticipation.

Draco pressed his cock into her and swiftly filled her. Hermione took in a deep breath between her teeth as he stretched her more than she had ever been stretched before. As her hot cunt enveloped him, Draco let out a hiss as she tightly gripped him. She was tighter than he had ever experienced before, and his bewildered, sex-laden mind celebrated in astonishment that Hermione Granger seemed perfect—she felt amazing around his cock, even without movement. Draco moaned into her neck as he burrowed himself there in concentration. His hands went down to grip her buttocks as she lifted her legs up to wrap around his hips.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned into her neck as he tried to get his bearings straight. Their fervor, passion, and her tight sex were making him feel like he could cum any second. He desperately pushed that feeling away not wanting to ruin their moment—a moment he never wanted to end. With his lust in check, Draco began to thrust into her slowly. As he became more confident with his ability to control his orgasm, he kissed his way from her neck to her lips where he captured them in another deep kiss. The penetrating motion of their tongues that had been feverishly dancing in their mouths was now matched by the motion of their bodies. Hermione’s legs were wrapped around his hips where she clasped her knees tightly against his muscular buttocks. Her hands went to his neck and jaw line where she held him to prop herself upwards as they sensually kissed. She let out a deep moan as he thrust his impressive girth into her with precise strokes.

As he continued to thrust, his pace began to quicken and Hermione fell backwards onto the desk as the pleasure weakened her. Next to her were the books open to their pages where she had pieced together the story of Draco’s influence. Draco broke their kiss as he loomed over her, thrusting into her. His face was contorted in concentration, and his brow furrowed in a way she had never seen before. Instead of brooding or anger, he displayed a look of lustful exertion. Their eyes were locked on each other, and they felt drawn in to another reality. They were humming sexual beings together in a dream of impulsive sexuality where no consequences existed—it was just them. The look in his eyes made Hermione even wilder with lust. She felt a frenzy of sexuality, excitement, and adrenaline flow through her as she enjoyed the pleasure of him inside of her. Even though she was no virgin, she felt as if she was when it came to experiencing real lust and sex. Never before did she feel so consumed by the feelings and emotions of sex before—she was intoxicated by it that no worry of rules or loyalty to her friends broke through her mind to destroy the moment. With her legs tight around his hips, his hands left her fleshy backside and went to her breasts that bounced with the momentum of their bodies. Hermione moaned as she pressed her pelvis back at him as he thrust deeply into her.

Draco leaned down and began to kiss Hermione’s neck again, sucking and nipping at her flesh as he thrust. His grunts and moans with his thrusts filled her ears, and she drank in every sound and feeling as she became purely driven by her senses. Her hands went to his back and her nails dug into his flesh there as she held onto him.

“Hermione,” Draco moaned into her neck.

“Draco,” Hermione whispered as she arched her back into his attention on her body—his lurid thrusts into her, his large hands thumbing her breasts, and his lips and teeth nipping at her neck.

He kissed her neck and then came back to her lips where they kissed again, this time not as long or deep as he concentrated his efforts. He pressed his forehead against hers as he leaned over, nearly mounting the table, but his height allowed his feet to remain on the floor. With their foreheads pressed against one another, Hermione opened her eyes. She watched his face become weaker as sweat fell down his temples and his mouth took in gulps of air. Her hands tenderly moved to hold his face. Hermione could tell he was close, and it aroused her immensely—she wanted to watch. Their hot breath intermingled, and each breath they took resounded between them. She moved her legs higher up on his waist and wrapped her legs fully round him, her ankles hitching together.

Draco felt himself go even deeper into her, and the tension of her slippery cunt on his swollen cock was tighter than ever as she pulled him deeper. As she thrust her hips against his, Draco felt his orgasm begin to build. His brow and face began to contort as his mouth went agape, and he felt his orgasm suddenly crash on him. He moaned into her, his clouded eyes boring into hers, his thrusts becoming slower and staggered as he came inside of her. The orgasm that consumed him was more intense than he thought he had ever felt before.

Hermione felt his trembling flesh in her hands as his body quivered from the orgasmic pleasure. His face showed the intensity of the ecstasy he felt. His pleasure became her pleasure as she dwelled in his orgasm vicariously, satisfied and fulfilled with the peak of their sexual exploits. The sounds of his uncensored moans from his orgasm were the sexiest and most pleasing thing she had ever heard. As his orgasm went on, he moved and buried his face into her shoulder as his body spasmed uncontrollably. Hermione wrapped her arms around him to steady him. Then with one last moan, he let out a quick breath he was holding that showed his orgasm had completed.

Their harsh breaths resounded around them, the candle just a foot from their glimmering bodies still shimmered as if nothing had happened—the lone witness to their frenzy. Hermione felt her sticky flesh pressed against him as his body weight rested upon her. With her arms wrapped around him, she held him to her as he recovered from the exertion. Her mind was whirling still as she looked up at the ceiling above. The room around them was still the same, but they were not. They were different now.

Draco felt his body humming from his sexual release, and relished in the comfort he felt as she held him. It felt intimate—more intimate than he had ever felt with a woman. The salty, sweet scent of her neck was calming to him as he took in deep, steady breaths as his heart rate began to normalize. They lie silent for many moments, taking in the air and relishing in the moment.  
Suddenly, there was a knock on the Common Room portrait door. “Hermione?” came a masculine voice from behind the door.

“Oh my God!” Hermione said, eyes wide with panic.

Their eyes met as the sudden realization of their compromised position dawned on them, and they quickly scrambled to get up, Draco pulling himself out of her with some care. Draco grabbed the clothes he could find as he fumbled in the dark, and ran over to the other side of the room where he wouldn’t be seen if the door was open.

“Hermione, are you there?” came the voice again from behind the door. Hermione recognized it as Ron’s.

“One second!” she called frantically as she looked around the room for some clothes. Realizing Draco had taken all of them, she ran across the room and grabbed the first white button-up she could see; she decided if she just leaned across the door she could get away with only wearing a shirt. She threw the garment on and quickly buttoned it up before running to the door. With her hand on the handle, she looked back towards Draco, confirming they were ready.

“Hey, Ron. What’s up?” Hermione asked when she pulled open the door. Her hair was wild as he gazed at her.

“You weren’t at dinner…and, um, you forgot your book,” he said as he slipped the book into the small gap she left. “Is everything okay?” he asked, as he tried to peer around her.

Hermione straightened her form in the door way without presenting too much of herself as she grabbed the book from him—the one she was supposed to return to the library earlier. The Common Room was a mess, with books strewn everywhere and a possible stray sock or pair of underwear thrown somewhere—it was definitely not a sight she was willing, or able, to explain currently. But in the darkness it was likely he couldn’t see much.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I just…put off packing too late,” she lied.

“Are you sure? You look a little mental,” Ron said—this word was always used to convey a state in which Ron did not know how to accurately assess or describe.

Hermione felt the need to roll her eyes at the statement, but her hypervigilance to convey ‘normality’ kept her from doing it—which was probably making her seem more suspicious. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m just tired, and I want to be rested for the train ride tomorrow—you know I can’t sleep on trains.” Hermione had become pretty good at lying, especially to Harry and Ron, who were often too suspicious and protective of her. Additionally, since she often preferred solitude over socialization, she had become good at sparing others’ feelings.

“Okay, if you say so…” Ron said, obviously not convinced. He went on his tiptoes to look into room behind her, and since he was much taller than her, she didn’t have a way to stop him.

“Ron!” Hermione called to distract him. Immediately, his eyes went to her. “I’m going to go now—have to continue packing and all—but I’ll see you on the train tomorrow!” And before he had a chance to respond, she closed the door. Then, she pressed her ear against the door and listened. It sounded like Ron stood there for a moment in confusion before turning around and leaving. When the footsteps died down, Hermione turned around to face Draco.

“Bloody hell,” she said as she let out a sigh of relief. Draco regarded her from the couch with an amused look on his face. “What?” Hermione asked.

“You’re…well, you’re wearing my shirt,” he said, chuckling.

Hermione looked down and found the shirt she wore was way too big, and then remembered how Draco had ripped the buttons off of her shirt earlier. “Fuck!” she cried, and Draco decided he liked it when she cursed. “Do you think he noticed?”

“Weasley? Fuck no! If he can’t tell when you’re lying he definitely didn’t notice your shirt,” Draco mused. A smile formed on Hermione’s face as she chuckled. Somehow she was impressed that he seemed intuitive enough to know when she was lying. Additionally, in her current state she just accepted his insult to her friend, or ex-lover, without argument. She suddenly felt vindicated from her experience with Ron. She was no failure—in fact, she felt a peculiar sense of pride.

Still completely enthralled by their sexual activities, neither their rationale nor logic had turned on to question the situation they were in. Instead, they simply enjoyed it—they were just in the middle of the act just moments before. As Draco regarded Hermione in his oversized button-up, he felt himself get hard again.

“But you do look pretty great in my shirt,” he said salaciously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consent is sexy.
> 
> Special thanks to Beta Reader Free_Buckbeak.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning(s): References to suicide.
> 
> Chapter Note(s): Special thanks to Beta Reader Free_Buckbeak.

Outside the train windows, the landscape flew past. Dead trees, frozen rivers and ponds, and snow-clad ground all so peaceful and unchanged by the world around it; the cold weather had frozen the world to a standstill. The cloudy sky with hues of slate, mauve, and ivory were melancholy as they seemed to remain stagnant above the speeding train. Though the winter wonderland outside the train was stagnant and gloomy, the excitement on the train was palpable.

Inside the train, the chatter of excited students on their way home for winter break filled the air. First year students with stories of their new experiences were giddy to see their parents, whom they were secretly missing through the months of witch and wizard training. Older students were excited to de-stress from challenging classes and tests that were preparing them for a world beyond Hogwarts; whether or not the world would look the same in the next few years with the possibility of war was still on the minds of many.

Staring outside at the passing world, Hermione’s hazel eyes were glossed over in a trance. Though the world looked frozen and unchanged outside the window, her life felt like a speeding train, direction unknown. Images of her salacious activity with the Slytherin Head Boy the night before danced behind her eyes; the sights, scents, touches, sounds, and tastes were all so clear in her mind as the memory seemed to come alive. She could still feel her heart pound from the rush of adrenaline that fogged her mind and allowed her to give into her impulses. Setting her hand to her heart, she felt the thump of that beat beneath her finger tips and remembered.

As the memories flooded her vision, her now dreaded voice of reason—that had seemingly been caged up in her mind the previous night—came forward. Disbelief, rebuke, and anxiety filled her system, turning the pounding of her heart for those steamy moments into a feeling of panic. Not only had she slept with a man she wasn’t dating, but she had done it with none other than Draco Malfoy—the trio’s longtime tormentor and enemy. Though through the weeks she had seen parts of Draco that revealed he was more than those things, and it was revealed last night that he might be no enemy at all, and in fact could be an ally, all of these revelations were secret. Harry and Ron knew nothing but hatred for the Slytherin boy who had cemented this belief in their minds as nothing but a cruel, vile, and pathetic enemy. As the only witness to these “truths” of Draco, Hermione wondered if it was possible that they weren’t truths at all?

Hermione shifted in her seat uncomfortably as the self-doubt and anxiety flowed through her. Though it wasn’t entirely present until this moment, it had been driving her the entire morning. Even before the sun came up, Hermione awoke in Draco’s arms in the Slytherin Head Boy’s bed. She found her eyes looking out into the darkness of the room, and hoped everything was just a dream. But then, as she became more aware, she felt the heaviness of his arm draped across her waist and his naked back against hers. His chest was moving in slow, even breaths as he slept behind her. Instantly feeling a blush come to her face—though, she knew it was hypocritical after the night they had—she slowly and carefully pulled herself from Draco’s arms and slipped out of the room. As quietly as she could, she cleaned herself up, got dressed, and cleaned up the Common Room of the quarters, leaving Draco’s clothing thrown on the floor of his bedroom. Maybe if it appeared unchanged, _they_ would be unchanged, and Draco would awake with only a memory of strange, vivid dreams. But she knew there was no such luck—that train had already left the station and there was no going back now.

Though, it was lucky that ahead of them was a long break where Hermione and Draco could gather their thoughts and rationally analyze the situation to make sure that all decisions forward were made with a clear mind. Nothing made Hermione more uncomfortable than the thought that there was a part of her that could be so without rational thought that it could make such huge decisions and thrust her life forward into an unseen direction. Never in her wildest dreams could she have thought she could be post-coitus with Draco Malfoy. The visions of his mouth ravaging her body were still dancing in her mind. Even now, she bore the love bites on her neck strategically covered by a scarf. She wasn’t aware they were there until Luna asked if she had been attacked by some mystical creature in her sleep. With no reprieve from the deluge of her friends and other students around her, she had to bare the marks of shame until she had a moment to heal herself in private. Touching the hidden hickeys she harbored on her neck, she thought about how utterly unprepared for everything she was and how this was what scared her the most. For every other moment of her life she had the opportunity to think through every possible scenario and come to the most logical and rational conclusion; she was prepared for the changes those decisions would make and for the possible consequences. This time, however, Hermione was unprepared for the consequences.

It was then her mind centered on the possible consequences of last night. Immediately she thought of her friends, Harry and Ron specifically. All the possible scenarios ran through her head on how they would react if they found out. She could hear their voices screaming in her mind, calling her misogynistic names of ill-repute, accusing her of betrayal, and then renouncing her as a friend and an ally. Biting her lip, she tried to squelch these paranoid fears in her mind. Deep down, she knew those voices or thoughts didn’t belong to her friends, but instead came from within her. It was then she realized she had a lot of soul searching to do these next weeks in order to quiet those voices.

“Hermione,” Ginny called. “Hermione!” Ginny called again as she shook Hermione’s leg slightly. Hermione turned her attention to her friend as her thoughts disappeared from her eyes. “Sorry to disturb you,” Ginny said shyly, which was not like her.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Hermione said, trying to ease her friend.

“What were you thinking about?” Ginny asked.

A blush rose to Hermione’s cheeks as the visions of last night ran through her mind again, but she quickly brushed them away. “Oh, nothing really,” Hermione said quickly.

Ginny offered a small smile, and it appeared as if the girl looked disappointed, but accepted her friend’s answer. Hermione wasn’t as forthcoming as most of her friends, and Ginny simply had to accept it, especially as she seemed to grow farther apart from everyone as the years went on. “Well, I was going to ask if you wanted anything from the candy trolley,” Ginny said.

“Didn’t it go by already?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, but Ginny now decides she wants something,” Harry said in a humorous tone. “It’s probably already down by Slytherin at this point. I swear, I think you inherited the Ron gene with your sugar addiction,” he teased.

“That gene is not exclusive to Ron. When I was young, Fred and George used to have a stash of candy in the attic—until Mum found it one year. Half it was melted into the rug! Mum was so mad,” Ginny laughed. She stood up and went to the door of their carriage and opened it. “Last chance, anyone want anything?” she asked to Harry and Hermione. Both shook their heads and Ginny left as the door closed behind her.

“Hermione,” Harry proceeded when Ginny was out of sight. Hermione looked up at her friend attentively. “You know, I wanted to talk to you about something,” he said.

Inside Hermione she suddenly felt a paranoid panic pierce through her. _Does he know? Did Ron know something and tell him? What am I going to say?! Is that why Ron isn’t here?!_

“It’s about Ginny,” Harry said.

A wave of relief rushed through Hermione as she reprimanded herself for her immature panic—no one knew, of course, about last night. She reminded herself that Ron over the past year had become closer to some other Gryffindor boys, such as Neville, especially since Harry and Ginny got closer and Hermione drifted away. “Oh?” Hermione said.

“Ginny didn’t want me to say anything to you, so please don’t tell her I did, okay?” Harry pleaded. Hermione nodded her head, brows furrowed as she waited for him to continue. “It’s about the time, a few weeks ago, when you didn’t show up to the Gryffindor tower,” Harry said. Hermione didn’t seem to react to his explanation, so he continued. “It was a Saturday and she had met you in the courtyard,” he said, his voice rising in pitch as he hoped his explanation would jog her memory. “And then you said you’d come to Gryffindor tower with everyone, and you didn’t show up.” A look of recognition appeared Hermione’s face as the memories of that night flooded back to her—it was the night Draco had shattered the mirror with his bloodied fist and then fallen asleep in her lap. When Harry saw the look of recognition, he continued. “Well, she felt really bad about it. Not only did she feel as though she lied to everyone that you were coming, but she had really been looking forward to it.”

“I’m sorry, I–” Hermione began, as she quickly tried to think of an excuse before Harry cut of her off.

“I’m not looking for any excuse,” Harry interjected and put his hands up as if to defend from lies. “I’m just bringing this up for her. She really wants to spend time with you. It is our last year, and she considers you a really good friend—we all do.”

Hermione felt guilt and shame rush through her as Harry voiced the feelings of her friends about her recently standoffish and anti-social attitude. It had started much before this specific incident, she knew, and it was indicative of her overall approach towards her friends. Though she had been aware of her actions, she had been willfully ignoring the feelings of her friends, and now it had caught up to her. A few moments of silence stretched between them as Hermione thought about the past year and how things had changed between her friends. She felt guilty for allowing things to get so out of hand that even an explanation about her absence was unwanted.

“You’re right, Harry. I haven’t been a very good friend,” Hermione admitted softly. She sighed as she closed the book on her lap and set it down next to her. As the moment went on, and she felt the melancholy of her admission seep through her, the images of the night before became too overwhelming for her guilty conscience to analyze so she tucked it away in the back of her mind. “I will come early this time—to the Weasleys’—and spend more time with Ginny. Do you think that would be good?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, I think that’d be great,” Harry said, as he appeared to pep up a bit.

“Good, it’s settled then. And Harry?” Hermione said.

“Yeah?” Harry replied.

“Thank you.” Hermione smiled.

It was then that Ginny opened the door back into their cabin with a pile of sweets in hand. She sat down next to Harry with a grin on her face that was reserved for every child who had just procured candy. Harry welcomed his girlfriend back with a close seat next to him, where he wrapped his arms around the girl’s shoulders.

“What’d you get?” Harry asked.

“A couple chocolate frogs and a licorice wand,” Ginny replied as she began to open them.

“Was it already at Slytherin, like I thought?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, you were right. And you know what I noticed?” Ginny said.

“What?” Hermione asked.

“Malfoy isn’t on the train. Is he not going home?” Ginny asked.

“I’m not sure,” Hermione lied. “But it’s not like he has much family to go back to,” Hermione said quietly.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he scoffed at the idea that Draco Malfoy was somehow a victim that needed sympathy. “Good,” Harry said lowly as he turned to look out the window. He crossed his arms over his chest with a grimace on his face.

Hermione looked out the window too as she felt the weight of Harry’s hateful sentiment on her for the man whom she had been intimate with the night before. It became clear in that moment that her objective was for her friends to never know about her and Draco; the vile words that had been screaming in her mind in the voices of her friends could actually become a reality if they were to ever find out. No matter what destiny had in store for her, she had to make sure that no one was hurt by it, especially her friends that had lost so much, and sometimes at the hands of the Malfoy’s themselves.

As Ginny looked at her boyfriend and friend looking out the window in a trance with grimaces on their faces, she realized she brought up the wrong subject. They sat in silence in their car as the speeding train made it ever closer to their freedom from the teachings and secrets in the halls of Hogwarts.

 

* * *

 

It had been a week since winter break had started, and Hermione was enjoying the tea times she spent with her parents and Crookshanks in their cozy and familiar home in London. Even though in years past they had spent their time traveling, it was decided that they spend her last break at home. Her mother, aware that her only child had turned 18 years old recently, was basking in the last moments she had with Hermione before she set her way into the world as an adult—especially into a world she herself as a Muggle didn’t quite understand. Though Hermione was adept at doing everything herself, she allowed her mother to do some things for her, like her laundry, make her every meal, drive her places, and even brush her hair every once in a while. She could see in her mother’s eyes the same stars she had when Hermione was younger, and Hermione remembered that warm smile that made their home whole.

During that time, Hermione could often be found deep in thought with a crease furrowed in her brow as she stared off. As she analyzed everything that had happened with Draco since the beginning of the year, she tried to piece together a coherent narrative in her mind. However, with the realization that Draco had intervened in their second year and saved Hermione from being killed by the Basilisk, she was having trouble rewriting not only the present, but the past. She wondered if Draco actually was different, or if she only thought he was. Every day her thoughts would go around in circles as she tried to reorganize the thoughts and feelings within her, but she continued to come up empty; she still felt as helpless as she was that night, and she wondered if Draco felt the same.

After a week of her mother fussing over her, Hermione felt the need to leave her parents’ company for a little while to explore the London streets alone to clear her head. Dusk was setting in the skies above, and even in the false light of the street lamps and store displays, the colors were unchanged in their brilliance of umber, vermilion, azure, and mauve. Some clouds were beginning to gather on the other side of the horizon indicating that a snow storm might be on the way. The contrast of the ever present sky to the bright lights of London made Hermione miss her dusty and muted halls of Hogwarts. Hermione walked down the streets of a quiet London road as she passed by restaurants and pubs full of people who were trying to escape the cold. As she walked for a couple hours, going inside stores and looking at clothes and books, she thought to herself about the past year and tried to lock away any thoughts she had on the Slytherin Prince for a night of peace. Walking by a pub, Hermione thought she might pop in for a drink, which could be good nightcap for a restful slumber.

As she swung open the door of a pub, she walked in and stomped some of the slushy residue off her boots onto the muddied rug at the entrance. As she began to pull her scarf and hat off, she noticed a familiar person sitting at the bar. It was Lavender Brown. Hermione looked at the girl in slight shock, having not prepared herself to run into her Hogwarts classmates—because what are the chances—and especially someone who could possibly be regarded as a feminine rival.

“Hermione?” Lavender called as she turned around and caught her eye. “Is that you?”

“Hi, Lavender,” Hermione said as she pasted a smile on her face and walked towards the girl.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Lavender smiled.

“Why are you here?” Hermione asked bluntly. It was strange to see a pureblood in a Muggle establishment.

“Strange to see someone like me in a Muggle pub, eh?” Lavender chuckled. “Well, my parents went out of town this break to visit my sister in the States. So I decided to stay with Mary.”

Hermione knew that Lavender was referring to Mary Albertson, from Hufflepuff, who was a 6th year Muggle-born witch. She was quiet, but was often seen with Lavender—especially when Lavender felt like a pariah after Ron broke up with her last year. “Well, I felt like having a drink and Mary didn’t want to come, so here we are.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. They stood there for a moment awkwardly as Hermione tried to decide if she was going to politely excuse herself and leave.

“Why don’t you sit? Have a drink with me?” Lavender offered as she pulled the seat out next to her.

“I don’t–” Hermione began shyly.

“Oh come on. There’s no point in either of us not being friendly; it’s not like we’re competing for Ron anymore or anything,” Lavender chuckled.

Hermione had to admit she was right, and it also didn’t feel right that she would harbor any ill-will against the girl because of a boy. “Okay,” Hermione smiled and started to take off her coat.

“What’ll it be, miss?” the bartender asked as he came over to the girls. It was a slow night and there were not many patrons in—it was, after all, a Sunday.

“Oh, um…” Hermione said as she thought. She looked over at Lavender’s drink and noticed it was some sort of cocktail. Thinking that was maybe a bit strong for her taste, she decided on wine. “Cabernet?”

“Coming right up,” the bartender said as he swiftly turned around.

Hermione took a seat next to Lavender and shifted into a comfortable position. Soon, the wine was sitting in front of her and she was sipping it down.

“So, how is it being Head Girl?” Lavender asked.

* * *

Some time went by, and a few drinks later the two Gryffindor ex-rivals were laughing as they reminisced about days of old including the awkwardness of their fellow students in their early years, how Professor Snape would constantly infuriate Harry and Ron, who seemed to be always asking for trouble, and even some similar experiences they had with Ron. Hermione was impressed with how well they were getting along, through attributed some of it to the social lubricant of alcohol. Lavender and Hermione had been roommates for years, but for some reason Hermione usually didn’t get along with a lot of the other girls. Well, if she was honest, without Harry and Ron and the friends that came along with that friendship, like Ginny, Hermione wasn’t sure if she’d have any friends at all.

“It’s so bizarre to have run into you in London. What are the chances, really?” Hermione mused. Her cheeks were beginning to brighten from the effects of the spirits.

“Well, I’m not really here by chance,” Lavender said without thinking.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

Lavender looked Hermione up and down for a moment as if analyzing the girl. Then a look of acceptance went over her face as if she decided Hermione could be trusted. “Well,” she began, “I’ve been to this pub before.”

“Oh yeah, why?” Hermione prodded for her to continue. It seemed like this may be an interesting story, especially with how bashful Lavender had become.

“Well…I met a man here last summer,” Lavender said with a little anxious embarrassment as she took another drink of her cocktail, as if hoping the liquid would provide her with more courage. Hermione nodded her head as she looked to the girl to continue her story. She tried to convey as much sincerity in her ability to be trusted as a confidant as she could with her steady eye contact. Lavender looked up and met eyes with Hermione, and seemed to be soothed by it. “Last summer I stayed a couple weeks with Mary, and I wanted to go out to a pub. Of course Mary didn’t want to come—she’s so shy! So I got the courage to go by myself. Right away, I caught the eye of this guy—a Muggle. He was so confident, and handsome, and instantly I was attracted to him,”

“…and?” Hermione prodded again when Lavender went silent.

Lavender took another drink of her cocktail finishing it. She motioned to the bartender for another one—Hermione had to admit that Lavender could hold her drink. “Well,” she began, “he was my first,” Lavender said sighing dreamily.

A slight smile appeared on Hermione’s face as her intoxicated mind wistfully and surprisingly happily remembered her first time with Ron. It was awkward, but it was also magical. Though they did not work out as a couple, Hermione could not deny that their first tender intimate moments together were happy memories for her.

“But it wasn’t like most of my friends’ first times,” Lavender said continuing. Hermione again focused on the girl as she allowed her memories to waver. “At school, most of their first times—even after that—were so awkward, uncomfortable, and even painful for some,” Lavender explained.

Though Hermione was not privy to much gossip or even to the secret histories of her classmates, she still knew Lavender was probably right in her assessment—Hermione’s, after all, probably fell in this category of description even if she still valued the experience. “That sounds about right,” Hermione chuckled.

“Yeah, well, with John,” Lavender said, invoking the name of the mysterious Muggle of the past summer, “it was passionate, pleasurable, and perfect.” The stars in her eyes at the memory made Hermione smile as the girl before her evoked the very image of love-struck—though, it probably qualified more as lust-struck. “He…well,” Lavender began again blushing, but when she saw the smile on Hermione’s face, she continued. “In that one night, I really became a woman. I actually learned things about myself, and my body. Even now, I can still feel him,” Lavender said as her eyes glazed over and she touched her fingertips to her lips as the memory played in mind. “And now, I’m not sure if anyone can compare…”

A blush rose to Hermione’s cheeks as the images of her passions with Draco filled her mind. When she saw Lavender touch her lips and she knew what memories she might be playing in her mind. Flooded with the images of the week prior, she also remembered the feel of his lips on her. Hermione immediately took a swig of her wine again, grimacing at the dry, fermented taste that was meant to be enjoyed and not chugged. Instead of the alcohol muting the memories and images in her mind of her night with Draco, and any other memories she was caging away in her mind, it was enhancing it and bringing it unabashedly forward. And with Lavender’s admission of a secret lover, Hermione was reminded of her own lurid secrets.

“I know it’s crazy,” Lavender admitted almost guilty. “I never thought I’d ever involved with a Muggle!” Hermione suddenly felt self-conscious of her blood status for a moment, but she knew Lavender was just being honest. “But,” she said in a slightly dreamy way, “I’m waiting here hoping I’ll see him again.” Lavender turned around and took a look around the room of the scant patrons, hoping to see the man that had opened up the world of her sexuality. A melancholy smile fell over her face when her sight came up empty. “It looks like, though, I never will.”

Hermione looked at the girl before her: lost in lust or love, melancholy for a memory that still haunted her, and wishing she could have it again. With her rationale quieted, Hermione’s feelings came forward again like they had that night, and she wished it could happen again; she wished to see his eyes ablaze with passion, feel his lips on her flesh, smell his cologne, and hear him moan her name. The thought that all of it could simply be a memory she held on to in vulnerable moments, like Lavender, made her uneasy. Hermione wanted to feel those feelings that ran through her like electricity as the train of destiny left the station to an unknown destination. With alcohol running through her veins instead, she could remember every moment they had without shame for a little while, instead of beating herself up over her impulsive sexuality. Though she knew in the morning when the wine had worn off her logic and rationale would again take over, in this moment she basked in the freedom she felt.

“Once you find that feeling,” Lavender said as she took a swig of her drink and interrupted Hermione’s thoughts, “don’t let it go.”

 

* * *

 

The moonlight shone out onto the blanketed grounds of Hogwarts, making the night seem bright; instead of the darkness muting the memories and moments of Hogwarts past like usual. The winter seemed to illuminate the secrets that lie within. High up on the Astronomy Tower, Draco stood and looked out over the grounds. Out on his patrol of the castle, which seemed futile with so few students left during break, he took some time to seek solace sitting in silence; though his days were mostly spent alone and in silence, the dusty and dim rooms of his dormitory were suffocating—especially with memories he wished were nothing but dreams.

He had been standing in the frigid, breezy air of the Tower for a while. His legs had gone numb from the cold, but he somehow relished in the feeling of his body’s sensations. The pinprick feeling on the tips of his fingers and nose demonstrated him he was still alive. These moments reminded him he was still trapped in his mortal coil, no matter how much felt his soul try to claw its way out. Looking down at the ground, he imagined his soul stepping out of the coil as his body plunged down hundreds of meters onto the cobblestone below.

He had felt the yearning to escape his reality ebb at his sanity for the past week. It was high up, mere feet from his destiny, that he found himself too scared to thrust himself forward into the darkness; this cowardice was disheartening that his reality would remain unchanged, but also gave him some hope that he still was unwilling to give up. Every day for the past year he faced himself at the end of every night and looked into the mirror as proof that he had survived another day. This had been all the proof he had needed to show that he was willing to stay alive; however, Snape called for Draco to do more. Instead of simply surviving, Snape called for him to live. However, the life of a soldier was not to live, but to survive until one’s duties were completed; Draco didn’t know if he even knew how to live.

An inner war had broken out within Draco, and his psyche felt like an innocent bystander who was subjected to the torture of watching it all unfold. Two factions fought within his mind: one that called for obedience as a soldier, and one that called for him to live free. At the forefront of the first faction his father’s voice rang out as nearly 18 years of teaching swirled inside of his mind. His father called for pride, power, and purity. These tenants were the foundation of being a Malfoy man, and to deny any part was to deny his father himself.

Though Draco wished he could simply regard his tryst with the Head Girl as nothing but another notch on his bedpost, he knew he had betrayed his purity by even touching the muddied girl. To find pleasure in her was to disgrace his father and his pure name of Malfoy. But that night continued to haunt him; when he closed his eyes, when his mind wandered, and when he went to sleep, she was there. He could still feel every inch of her skin, taste the sweet and saltiness of her supple body, smell her secret scent and her bath perfumes, hear her say “Draco”, and see the passion in her hazel eyes as they seem to shimmer like fire. The mere flick of memory would set of a tirade of shame, humiliation, and hatred spewing in his mind. The pain of the war that happened behind his gray eyes drew him to the Astronomy Tower, like it had many times the year before when he discovered his life as a pawn was even more lowly than he had thought.

His mind was a prison, a war zone, and a torture chamber, and there was no escape. His admissions that night, and the feelings he felt, had signed his death warrant. The part of him that was just beginning to take flight was to be locked up, caged, like a criminal until it could be destroyed. No longer could the Malfoy in him be allowed to sabotage everything he was taught to value. All he knew was the person he was taught to be, and everything else was just childish flights of fancy. If he was going to be trapped inside this skin, he had to at least represent the person those saw on the outside: the Slytherin Prince.

He hated himself, he knew. He hated who he was, who he was supposed to be, and who he wanted to be. There was no freedom for a soldier of war—only obedience.  No matter what he thought he had wanted in those passionate moments with her, he knew it was nothing but a fantasy—a fleeting fantasy that had turned his existence back into a nightmare. He supposed he should hate her, too, for the anguish she had caused, but somehow he just couldn’t do it.

 

* * *

 

On Christmas day, friends and family, including many Order members, congregated at the Weasley house. It had become a tradition over the past years, and this year was no different—even if it had been quiet on the Order front thus far. Hermione, however, was spending it with her parents and had left the day before to return in a couple days. After dinner, Harry, Remus, Tonks, and the Weasley family sat around the table awaiting any news from the Order. A silence stretched over the group for a moment, which made Harry uneasy.

“So,” Remus began uncomfortably, “we’ve gathered some intel that the Death Eaters are preparing for war again.”

“What?!” Harry cried as he stood up. Molly Weasley, who stood up behind Harry and Ginny, put a hand on his shoulder to ease him back down. Her face was full of concern.

“Calm down, Harry,” Bill Weasley said. “I mean, we can’t _officially_ say anything,” he contended.

“Well, it appears that way,” Remus defended.

“I told you, I’m not exactly sure. There is _something_ going on at the Ministry, but it doesn’t _necessarily_ mean ‘you-know-who’ is involved,” Bill said.

“So Voldemort is still alive!” Harry said hotly.

“I told you we shouldn’t have said anything,” Molly said with a sigh.

“No! Tell me everything!” Harry defended.

“We will, we will. Just don’t jump to any conclusions,” Bill said.

“But wait,” Ron interjected. “If the Ministry knows something, why don’t you know officially, Dad?

“Only the Minister and some higher ups seem to be privy to any information,” Bill said. “And unfortunately, the Ministry has never been forthright when it came to admitting anything publicly.”

“So how do you know?” Tonks asked holding her pregnant belly protectively.

“I don’t know anything—we don’t know anything. It’s simply a rumor,” Bill said.

“But these rumors should be taken seriously,” Remus defended.

“Yes, they should be; however, it’s been quiet for a while now, and I don’t know want them,” Bill said referring to Harry and the Weasley children, “to be worried. Your job,” he said as he turned to Harry, and his eyes met with his other children of Ron and Ginny who were still in school, “is to focus on school.”

“Well, you can’t keep anything from me! I want to know everything!” Harry argued.

Molly’s hand rested on Harry’s shoulder to ease him. “You will, dear, you will. We promise. When you need to know something, we’ll tell you.”

“That’s not enough!” Harry argued.

Remus was beginning to look sheepish that he had riled Harry up and he slunk back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. Usually these conversations would last longer, and he knew there was even more information to be provided, but at this point it seemed it needed to be expressed behind closed doors; it was as if all the frustration and eagerness that Harry had been holding in for the past year was suddenly coming out with any new information.

“Harry…” Ginny scolded as she rested her hand on his. Harry quickly brushed it off.

“Harry,” Bill said as she looked Harry squarely. “I promise you will get the information you need as soon as we can get it to you. We won’t hide anything from you. However, we will make sure that information is based in fact!”

Harry seemed to settle in his seat, but he was seething. The information that Voldemort was alive and readying for battle made Harry feel like his blood was boiling. Though he never believed Voldemort was dead, or lost any of his power, even though some delusional people thought he had, Harry felt angry that only now did it seem to be known. It was as if all the paranoia he had over everything was true and he been sticking his head in the sand this whole time trying to ignore it. It was then that Harry vowed to not ignore the issue anymore. When he got back to Hogwarts, he decided he needed to make drastic measures in order to obtain the information Dumbledore wanted from Slughorn. Additionally, he decided he could no longer ignore his suspicions about Draco Malfoy any longer.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Though the break was a nice reprieve from school work and Head Prefect duty, the anticipation of seeing Draco again, for better or worse, was cracking at Hermione’s psyche. Even though she didn’t know what she was going to say, or even how she really felt about the whole thing, just having an end to the unknown was all she needed, and it seemed the biggest unknown was how Draco would react when she saw him again. For her whole life, nothing was much of a surprise—except when it came to things dealing with Voldemort and the impending war, but that was unknown to everyone. But now, after she impulsively thrust her destiny forward into an unknown path, the eagerness to have answers was all that drove her. Draco could outright dismiss her and they would pretend nothing had ever happened, and that was still a better conclusion than the unknown. But whether or not she would actually feel relieved when confronted with the truth still remained to be seen.

As she walked towards her dorm, she stood with her spine as erect and proud as she could bear. Pulling her trunk along, she could feel her heart rattle in her chest as she got closer and closer to the portrait door. She wasn’t even sure if Draco would be there, but the possibility made her hair stand on end. Behind that door could be the answer she was looking for, and no matter what the conclusion was to this tangent in her young life, she was eager to find out.

“Lucios lemos,” she said to the painting. The man standing before his dining family nodded and the door began to swing open. As light streamed out into the hall from the Common Room, Hermione found her breath hitched in her chest at the prospect that Draco may be only a few feet from her. For a moment she stood frozen in her spot, but then pushed herself through the doorway with her head held high. As the door closed behind her, she took a peak around the room and found it was empty. Bright sunlight and the reflection of the glare on the snow shone through the window illuminating the room. Some candles were lit around the Common Room, but could have been left that way from earlier that morning. For all appearances, it seemed Draco wasn’t there.

Hermione let a deep breath out from her tight chest as the anxiety of that moment escaped her. She pressed her hand to her heart where she willed the pitter-patter to cease. Though she was no closer to an answer, she wasn’t sure if her nerves could have really taken it; all of the adrenaline that was coursing through her system the minute she set foot in Hogwarts had made her weak and fatigued. She wasn’t used to situations of such high anxiety, except in cases of life or death with Harry and Ron years earlier; she figured she must be batty to really _prefer_ those instances than the one she was experiencing and had been experiencing for the past weeks; at least then she didn’t feel alone in her experience when it came to fighting Voldemort.

As Hermione stood in the middle of the Common Room gathering her wits, a pair of gray eyes watched from up above in the shadowed doorway of his bedroom. As he leaned against the doorway, he was surprised she hadn’t seen him initially. But when she didn’t, he realized he was going to have to be the one that broke the silence and announce his presence—a Malfoy doesn’t just _hide_. For a moment he felt panic run through him as he tried to figure out what to say, which still eluded him after all this time no matter how many times he ran scenarios through is mind. But then, closing his eyes, he gathered himself and the Draco Malfoy character that exuded arrogance, insolence, and disgust quickly came back to him—he had perfected it over the years making this role he played seamless.

“Oh, it’s you,” he spat.

Hermione spun around on her heel in shock and looked up the stairs where the voice had come from. In her movement, she knocked over her trunk that had been standing up on its side. “Oh!” she cried as she leaned down quickly to pick it back up. She could feel his eyes on her, judging her, and she felt a mess already.

Draco chuckled at the scene below, and felt his arrogance strengthen within him at how uneasy she was in his presence—it was something he had always wanted to see from the Gryffindor witch; through the years she had usually remained so unfazed by him, building a resistance to his priggish attitude except if he was really cruel, but now in front of him she was like a little nervous child. He felt pride for the affect he had on her, and cruelly wished he had shagged her earlier just to have weakened her as an intellectual foe. As he watched her clumsily straighten out her trunk and herself, Draco began walking down the stairs towards her with a cocky smirk on his face.

When she finally straightened herself out, Hermione found herself face to face with Draco. She noted that he was standing closer to her than she remembered he ever had in most of their interactions, and she felt her spine stiffen as she met his eyes. She could feel her heart pounding harder and louder than ever before—so loud she could swear everyone in Hogwarts could hear it thumping. She hated that she had made a fool of herself, but she still couldn’t drag herself out of her anxiety-ridden trance that made her easy prey. As her eyes caught his, she noted they did not look much different than she had remembered from all the other times they quarreled. Searching his gray depths, she willed herself to see something more.

“Granger,” he said.

Hermione felt her breath hitch within her chest at the sound of his voice saying her name, but at the same time not actually saying her name—no, not like he had before. With that one utterance, she realized the tone of the conversation and she felt the walls build up around her heart. She clenched her jaw as the scenarios of more pleasant interactions seemed to burn within her as she hated herself for even fantasizing. Taking in his appearance, and the way he seemed the same as before, as if nothing had happened, she felt her eyes narrow into a glare—she could play this part if he wanted her to; after all, she had perfected it through the years.

“Malfoy,” she replied with indignation.

They stood there silent then, as if waiting for the other one to say something. Since he had set the tone of the conversation from the get-go, Hermione felt herself silenced by caution; he had obviously come to some conclusion about how to proceed past that night, while she had come up empty. Though she hated that she allowed him the power to somehow dictate her future, her inability to determine the meaning to his past influence, and their night of passion, left her at a stalemate; the fact that he was still such an unknown kept her from relying on and anticipating any true outcome, because she realized her will could be paramount to nothing in the end. However, she had to admit she felt some hurt for the fact that her will and feelings meant nothing to him.

As Draco scowled at her, he caught a whiff of her scent and instantly the flashes of their salacious activities that night weeks ago danced behind his eyes, but his face remained unchanged. These images had haunted him and had become part of his reality that he was starting to become tired. But now, with her right in front of him, these images again seemed real instead of from some perverse dream. For a moment, he lost himself, and he could feel his heart begin to pound in his chest as the propaganda machine in his mind went silent. Feeling suddenly free, he immediately felt panic set in knowing the fleeting moment only weakened him. With a vengeance, the screaming his mind started again as if a drill sergeant commanding his soldier in line. His grimace and brooding in his eyes strengthened as he glared at the girl who made him momentarily weak. She truly was his enemy.

“Stay out of my way,” he said in a low voice as his face darkened with menace.

Hermione remained silent and glared back at him. Her chin lowered slightly as she felt her pride diminish under his piercing gray eyes. She felt hurt at his malice—missing the man who bore his soul to her that night before intimately kissing and touching her.  The questions, anticipation, and even hope she had were squelched with those words; what they had might as well have been a dream or a nightmare. As the pain resonated in her chest, she felt her eyes fall to the floor as she searched her soul for strength. The only strength she could draw from came from a place of anger, and her eyes flashed up at him. The hatred that was in her eyes was nothing he had ever seen before, as her face darkened before she spoke.

“Fuck you.”

 

* * *

 

It was Sunday night—the night the Head Boy and Girl were to do their rounds patrolling the castle. The next day classes were to resume, and the castle was quiet when the clock struck midnight. Hermione spent her patrol in silence, alone with her thoughts. The day before the weeks of anticipation had come to a conclusion, as the life she saw within his gray eyes hardened and disappeared. The malice and hate she had become used to through the years were ever present. This fact should not have surprised her, but the tender moments they had shared weeks prior had made her feel foolish believing it indicating there was more to the Slytherin Head Boy. Even in her moments of anger, a feeling still nagged at her that there was still hope. But then she wondered, _What_ exactly _do I hope?_

As she walked down the darkened corridors, she began to analyze what it was that she felt like she lost. Did she lose a potential friend, ally, or lover? But she realized all of these things were selfish labels—ones that benefited her—even if true. There was an even more basic truth to the feelings of hurt she had felt—a loss of something even more important: Draco had lost himself. Hermione believed that everyone—or almost everyone—had good within them, and in those moments when he bore his soul to her, showing he had cared about something more than his Malfoy name, proved that he did have good in him; in showing kindness and intimacy to someone like herself, who represents an enemy to his blood, he demonstrated he was more than just a Slytherin soldier in the war against the muddied. Outside of the persona of Slytherin Prince, he became a person—a person who could be kind, tender, and caring. No matter what, the truth of the person inside of Draco Malfoy was exposed, and Hermione had been there to witness it. She felt fortunate to have seen this part of Draco, but saddened that he seemed set on denying its existence.

As she opened the door to the Astronomy Tower as one of the last sections of her patrol, she was startled by a figure standing near the ledge looking out. At her gasp, the figure turned around and looked at her. It was Draco. He remained silent as he peered at her, and his face seemed more neutral—no scowl or furrowed brow. In fact, his gray eyes almost looked sad to her as her wand illuminated his face. As she regarded him, she realized his wand was nowhere in sight. He had been standing there in the darkness.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked. This was out of the way for his patrol path.

“Nothing,” he said softly as he turned around and looked out over the ground again. His eyes looked like they were far away in thought, completely disconnected from his body. He stood there in silence for a moment, before turning around and walking past her.

Hermione felt his warm presence brush past her shoulders and she turned around to watch him leave. Suddenly, she felt words tumble out of her mouth. “I’m not the enemy,” she said quickly.

Draco stopped in his tracks and stood silent for a moment. His tall, dark figure seemed mysterious in the shadows. He then turned around, his face illuminated. The sadness she saw before seemed more present. “No, I am,” he said softly, his eyes not meeting hers. Draco then turned around and walked away, disappearing into the darkness of the castle leaving Hermione alone.

Hermione’s brow furrowed as the words seeped into her. Her feet carried her after him and quickly came upon him descending down the numerous stairs.

“You can’t just say something like that,” Hermione said with exasperation as she stepped after him.

“I’m not having this conversation,” Draco said continuing down the stairs.

“Why do you always run?!” Hermione accused as hurried her steps towards him.

“And why do you always fight?!” Draco suddenly shouted as he turned around to face her. “What the hell are you fighting for?!” he called desperately.

Hermione stopped in her tracks as they came face to face; a few steps below her, they were nearly at the same height as he turned to glare at her. She felt a pain within her as any of her leftover anger melted into sadness when she looked into his eyes; the sympathy she had begun to feel for him earlier that year was becoming overwhelming. Even if he hurt her, she felt even more pain for the hurt she saw in his eyes; it was a pain she not could fix, and she felt even more rage for the man that not only helped ruin the lives of her friends, but obviously of his sons. In humanizing Draco Malfoy, the years of moments she witnessed between father and son took a whole new meaning for her. The prospect of being the son of Lucius Malfoy seemed even more daunting than being an enemy.  He was fighting a hard battle, and he seemed to not know why. The tension between them was palpable as his cries rang off the walls of the immense stairway far above the grounds of Hogwarts, and she felt tears begin to fill her eyes as his dark eyes bore into hers. “Myself,” she finally said softly.

Silence stretched between them as Draco’s gray eyes narrowed at the sight before him. His face seemed to grow dark as he regarded the Head Girl. Even with what seemed to be tears filling her hazel eyes, she exuded a strength he envied; that strength came from within her where she fought for herself, her life, which was a concept foreign to him. His glare pierced into her seeing his pain reflect back at him; she was like a mirror, and mirrors had become his enemy. Her tears, unlike before, weren’t full of confusion, anger, or sadness for herself—those tears were for him. “Don’t look at me that way,” Draco said lowly as he turned his gaze away from her, unable to continue meeting her gaze that seemed to see through him.

“I can’t look at you any other way…” she whispered feeling her throat begin to hurt as she held back tears.

“Then don’t look at me at all,” he growled. Before Hermione had a chance to respond her turned around and quickly continued his way down the stairs and was soon out her site as he rounded the softly graded corner.

Her feet did not will her follow him. His dark features were painted in her mind as the depths of his gray eyes seemed to sear into her, plucking at her heartstrings. Knowing the charade of their feud would continue, Hermione felt her resolve already begin to deteriorate after one day. Her anger and hate were waning, and the hurt she felt for his denial of her was beginning to become dwarfed by her empathy. Seeing the darkness in his eyes, and knowing what light could show, pained her. She only hoped one day that light could shine brightly again, even if she wasn’t there to see it.

* * *

 

The next morning, after the students had settled back into their normal schedules again, the Gryffindor students were sitting at their table eating breakfast. The giddiness of the holiday cheer had worn off, and some of the students already looked tired from their busy schedules. Hermione sat reading and trying to memorize the upcoming chapter in her Potions class while she drank her orange juice.

“Hermione!” a cheery voice called from down the table. Hermione looked up from her book and caught the bright blue eyes of Lavender Brown. Hermione offered a smile to the girl and waved.  
Ron, catching the scene, furrowed his brow in a perplexed look. “What’s that all about?” Ron accused.

“Oh, didn’t you know? Hermione and Lavender are friends now,” Ginny said nonchalantly. Hermione had told Ginny about running into Lavender over break in the pub when Hermione had come up early to spend time with the Weasleys.

“ _Friends_? You two are _friends_ now?!” he said incredulously.

“Yeah, so what?” Hermione said nonchalantly as she looked down at her book again.

“So what?! After all that grief you gave me after I went out with her last year, now you two are just friends? What about how you think she’s such a–” Ron said, beginning on a tirade. Before he could finish his sentence, Hermione leaned over in alarm to cover his mouth with her hands.

“Shut up!” she whispered harshly as she looked over towards Lavender’s direction to see if she was listening. When it seemed Ron was no longer going to finish his sentence, she quickly sat back down and smoothed out her robes, to demonstrate her calm.

“People change,” she said resolutely.

“I was just dating her, I should know she hasn’t,” he defended.

“I wasn’t talking about her!” she shot back.

Ron then looked perplexed as he regarded his friend. Hermione did seem softer somehow, and the fact that she was accepting of Lavender as a friend spoke volumes to him. Over the years, Hermione had built up walls of conceit that allowed her to not feel the harsh denial of her peers. Within those walls, Hermione was untouchable. The only people who seemed to hurt her were her true friends, or enemies. Now in their last year, surrounded by both, she seemed to actually be expanding beyond those walls, and Ron wondered if the constant attacks from the enemy—Draco Malfoy—were beginning to wear on her. Suddenly, he felt sympathetic for his friend, and wondered if her new friendship with Lavender actually showed that she was lonely, or desperate, for acceptance. It was then that Ron felt a resurgence of the need to protect her.

“What did he do to you?” Ron suddenly asked incredulously.

“What?! Who?” Hermione asked in confusion.

“Malfoy!” Ron accused.

“Wait, what are you two talking about?” Harry said jumping in when Draco’s name caught his attention.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Ron,” Hermione said firmly.

“Never mind!” Ron said harshly, standing up. His anger was so sudden that he didn’t even know what he was accusing at this point, but he knew he was mad. He stormed off out of the Great Hall and his friends watched with confusion.

“Can Weasley still not find the mysterious clitoris?” Seamus called to Harry, Hermione, and Ginny when he saw Ron storm out of the Great Hall. He and his friends laughed as blush rose to Hermione’s cheeks. Not only did she feel mad at the continuance of the insults toward Ron by the other Gryffindors even though at the time Hermione had felt vindicated by it, but she also felt somehow violated by the insinuation of her involvement sexually.

“Shut up, Seamus!” Harry growled.

Seamus and his friends continued laughing and Hermione, Harry, and Ginny all looked at each other.

“What was that about?” Ginny asked Hermione.

“I honestly don’t know…” Hermione admitted softly.

“Well, I guess that’s my cue. I’ll go see if I can talk him down,” Harry said as he stood up. “Don’t wait up for me,” he said to Ginny as he took a final swig of his orange juice before leaving.

“Boys…” Ginny said sighing and shaking her head.

Hermione felt her heart beating in her chest as she felt the panic rise within her. Ron was suspicious that something had happened between her and Draco, it appeared. Even though it was improbable he had any clue about the truth, she felt anxious nonetheless. And the fact that she herself was unable to concisely determine what the truth was, made her even more unsettled. She couldn’t answer his question even if she wanted to; any answer she could provide would be dreadfully incomplete. Hermione knew there was more to the story than even she knew.

 

* * *

 

“You’re even weaker than before!” Snape howled as he continued to point his wand at the crumpled body on the floor.

Draco lay on the floor curled into a fetal position as he held his head. His entire body quaked as he whimpered from the searing pain in his head. His face was contorted unrecognizably into pain as beads of sweat dripped off his pallid skin. Gray, weak eyes were squeezed in pain and anger. “Please…stop,” he cried.

Snape exasperatedly pulled his wand away and paced away from the boy. A look of anger and desperation appeared on his face as he ran his hand through his dark locks in thought; for once, the professor seemed disturbed as there was a crack in his normally calm appearance. He seemed to mull over his limited options as he watched the broken body on his floor try to claw its way back up from the depths of despair. “What am I supposed to do with you?” Snape asked as if to himself.

As the searing pain eased on Draco’s brain, he felt the familiar fatigue take over his body. As he tried to peel himself up off the floor, his muscles and will cried out for rest. After a few moments of struggling to get to his knees, an exasperated Snape pried the boy harshly off the floor by his shoulder. When Draco got to his feet, Snape threw him back into the chair that had become his very own personal torture device.

“You’ll be dead the next time he curses you!” Snape yelled.

“Good!” Draco called back.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake!” Snape said in exasperation as he looked towards the heavens as if to ask for divine intervention. “I am not equipped to deal with teenage angst, Malfoy.”

“Then don’t,” Draco said as he started to try and push himself up out of the chair as if to leave.

“Sit down!” Snape said as he pushed Draco’s weak body back into the chair with little effort. “You’re not only risking your life, but my own. Do you think I would have taken the Unbreakable Vow if I had known how weak you were?! You can’t even _fight for your life_!”

Draco crossed his arms over his chest in a show of indignation. He felt spent of all energy and emotion, and the idea of fighting anything seemed impossible at the moment. He no longer felt like putting up a fight to spare his life; with more time, all he could do was bring shame to his family. He was already dead inside, so it didn’t matter anymore. “What life?” Draco asked with a dejected sigh.

Suddenly, Snape’s face was mere inches from his own, and his dark eyes bore into Draco’s. “You’re not even 18 years old, and you have decades ahead of you–” he said lowly.

“Decades? I’m a soldier. There are no guarantees,” Draco said darkly, interrupting Snape.

“There are never guarantees. But I can tell you this—I will with all my power protect you,” Snape declared fiercely.

“For fear of dying yourself,” Draco mocked.

Snape was silent as he leaned over the boy and stared him down. His face was contorted into a grimace. “I did not have to take that Vow; I made a choice, Draco,” Snape said slowly as he stepped away from him. “I took that Vow because I wanted to.”

Draco looked surprised, and he downcast his eyes towards the floor feeling somehow ashamed to meet the man’s eyes. He had never been privy to the details of the Vow that was made, but he had always assumed somehow Snape was coerced into it. With this new information, Draco suddenly felt guilt for being so selfish when Snape had been so selfless. “Why?” Draco asked desperately.

“Believe it or not, Draco, people care about you–” Snape began.

“–because I’m their puppet!” Draco interjected with a cry.

“No!” Snape bellowed as he whipped around to glare at Draco. “You might have been convinced by your father that your purpose was to be nothing more than that, and the Dark Lord may have preyed upon this weakness, but there is an entire world outside your anguished view. Though it may seem cliché, a mother’s love is infinite; even with the threat that the Dark Lord may punish her for speaking of your mission she came to me to beg for help. I would not have taken on your life if I did not believe it had value.”

Draco felt even more shamed by Snape’s words and cast his eyes even lower.

“We often do not live for ourselves; we live for those around us—to protect them,” Snape said softly. Draco looked up from the chair to his mentor and found Snape’s dark eyes soft as he stared off sadly in his own anguish. Then, his dark eyes met Draco’s again with a look of resolution. “You can protect _them_ , Draco.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Beta Reader Free_Buckbeak.


	12. Chapter Twelve

“Quiet down, quiet down,” Draco scolded impatiently, as if talking to children.

It was Wednesday afternoon and the Prefects had a meeting to go over schedules and concerns, especially with the beginning of a new semester. They were only three days into the new term and there were already issues with students being out after curfew—specifically Slytherin. Older students, emboldened by their age, were becoming more hostile to the rules and to anyone that confronted them. It also appeared that as the years had gone on, and they inched closer to the impending war, the tensions were palpable within the attitudes of the Slytherin students—it appeared as if they knew something no one else did. Draco knew that the sentiments from the students’ parents, who likely had ties to Death Eaters, proudly spouted during Christmas dinner probably only created even more arrogance; which, unfortunately for Draco, meant he would have to work harder to keep them in line.

“Now, the only reason we’re having this meeting is so that you worthless sods don’t forget your duties,” Draco said. He stood at the head of the classroom next to Hermione; there seemed to even more tension between the opposite Heads as they lead the group. The rest of the Prefects sat in the desks, waiting impatiently to leave for lunch.

“What, you think we’re barmy?” Ron chuckled.

“Of course I do, Weasley—especially you,” Draco spat.

Hermione had to admit that Ron walked right into that one, but she realized she couldn’t let Draco completely set the tone for the meeting. “Now, now,” she scolded, meeting eyes with Ron to try and suppress any masculine rivalry Ron planned to unleash. “We just want to make sure that everyone is ready to get back to their duties for the week. We don’t want any gaps in patrolling because someone forgot,” she explained in a matter-of-fact tone. “Also, we’d like to hear any of your concerns. I know that we all just got back, but these meetings are also here to provide you with support,” Hermione said, trying to lighten the mood.

“I-I have a concern,” came a meek voice to Hermione’s left. It was a younger Prefect from Ravenclaw named Fern Gildabash.

“Go on, Fern,” Hermione smiled to provide comfort to the shy girl.

“Well,” she said as she stood up—her small frame mirrored her small stature and voice. “I-I’m finding that some students have been rather hostile lately when found after curfew.”

“Three guesses who,” Ron said sarcastically.

“Shut it, Weasley,” Pansy snarled. When the attention was on her, she stood up in defiance. “I know you’re all thinkin’ it’s Slytherin, but it’s not _our_ fault. We just can’t help it when someone like _Fern_ confronts us; she’s just asking for trouble.”

Fern slunk back down to her seat, hanging her head. As Hermione watched this, she stood up taller in her defiance. “You’re right, we all _are_ thinking it’s Slytherin. I myself have had some nasty run-ins this past semester–” Hermione began with her nose upturned.

“Of course you have! You think Slytherin’s just going to take a Mudblood Head Girl?!” Pansy shot back.

Instantly, Hermione felt the rush of air as Draco shot up next to her. He had been leaning rather slouched against the podium, displaying his lack of enthusiasm for being there. He seemed to lean forward in a menacing pose as if he was about to pounce. “That’s enough!” he demanded. Pansy glared at Draco, but remained silent as she sat back down. She didn’t take her brown eyes off of him as she seemed to hex him with her thoughts. Hermione looked at Draco in astonishment. “I’m not here to babysit some bitching children!” he howled. “Fern!” he called as he looked at her. She immediately looked up, and her blue eyes look frightened as she met his. “Who patrols with you?”

“W-Will,” Fern said softly.

“Will,” Draco said as he looked towards the 6th year. Will immediately sat stiff in his chair. “You will patrol near Slytherin from now on, okay?” Will nodded his head vigorously. “Now, if you have any complaints about any Slytherin students, come to me,” he demanded of the Prefects. His aggression seemed to make everyone uncomfortable, as most of them stared off into different directions, hoping not to catch the ire of the Head Boy. “Bloody hell,” Draco grunted as he held his head in his hand as if in pain. “Before you all give me a splitting headache, is there anything else?” Before anyone could respond, Draco continued. “Good! We’re done, then! You’re dismissed.”

Quickly the Prefects got up and started to leave to go to lunch. Ron watched Draco for a moment with a furrowed brow as Draco held his head in his hands. He appeared to be in a lot of pain. But soon Ron was being dragged out by the rest of the Prefects in the doorway.

“Don’t forget your patrol times! The schedule is posted near Professor Dumbledore’s office for reference!” Hermione called as the students filtered out when the meeting unexpectedly was cut short. “Damnit Malfoy, you can’t just–” she began to protest hotly as the last students left. She had allowed Draco to completely run the meeting and even cut it short before anything was accomplished. 

“Bloody hell,” Draco interrupted, as pressed his fingers against his temples as he began slouch over.

“Malfoy?” Hermione questioned as she turned and leaned her head down to try and look at his face. “Malfoy? What’s wrong?” Hermione asked again as the last of the Prefects left the room.

“Fuck!” Draco cried as he sprung out of his painful repose. He ran out of the classroom and down the hall to the nearest boy’s bathroom.

“Draco!” Hermione called as she ran after him.

The other Prefects were already walking in the other direction towards the Great Hall when Ron turned around and saw Hermione run after Draco. “Did she just call him ‘ _Draco’_?” Ron whispered to himself.

When Draco went into the boy’s bathroom, Hermione stood still for a moment at its entrance, wondering if she should go in, but quickly made the decision to follow him. The memory of shattering mirror rang through her mind as the scene unfolded; that she, as Head Girl, was responsible for pacifying any situations that may result in breaking of rules—particularly Hogwarts property, again.

“Draco! What’s wrong?” Hermione asked urgently when she came upon Draco at one of the sinks. He was covered in water after he had splashed some from the running faucet onto his face. His skin was as white as a ghost as he stared into the mirror, a look of horror on his face. It reminded Hermione of that night many weeks ago.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he cried, grabbing his hair with hands and pulling at it as he buried his head into the crooks of his arms.

“Oh my God,” Hermione said desperately as she put a tentative hand on his back to comfort him. She started to fear that she was about to be plunged into the same nightmare she had experienced with the Head Boy months back.

“No!” he cried as he recoiled from her touch. “I’m alright!” he called as he pulled his face from his arms to look at her. “I’m alright,” he said resolutely, as his breathing began to calm. His gray eyes, that seemed to portray more of the Draco that Hermione had recently been introduced to, bore into her with resolve.

Hermione searched his eyes, feeling drawn in by them, as if he had reopened the door into his soul. Her heart was pounding again as they looked at each other, and again she was feeling exhilaration mixed with terror that he brought out of her in these quasi-intimate moments. “Ar-are you sure?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he said softly, as he seemed to completely calm. He looked at the girl once again, for more than a mere moment, as he tried to convey that he was telling the truth. It was then that he saw her eyes, and felt his breath hitch in his throat. Immediately, he turned towards the mirror again to glare at his own reflection in disgust—she made him so weak, and he hated it.

Suddenly, Hermione heard the sound of footsteps behind her and spun around. At the entrance to the bathroom, Ron stood looking at them quizzically. “Ron,” Hermione said softly. Instantly, she felt a rush of anxiety run through her as Ron looked at her and Draco. Ron remained silent.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the Great Hall, Weasley?” Draco spat as he turned around to glare at Ron. Again, Ron was silent, and his face exuded a mix of emotion that put Hermione on edge. His brow was furrowed as his blue eyes seemed to dance back and forth between Hermione and Draco. He looked as if he was doing a rather difficult puzzle problem in his head. Then, averting his eyes from Hermione’s gaze, Ron turned around and left them without a word.

“Fuck,” Hermione whispered harshly as Ron’s footsteps disappeared down the hall. Her face twisted with worry.

“Don’t worry about it,” Draco said as he dried his face with a towel. Somehow her liberal language made him feel even more comfortable speaking to her again; her use of language that was familiar to him made him feel like their conversation was simple, instead of deeply laced with innuendo and intrigue.

“Fuck,” Hermione cried again. “What if–” Hermione began.

“‘What if’ _nothing_. It’s not like he caught us snogging,” Draco said nonchalantly. When Hermione looked at him with her brow furrowed incredulously, Draco felt himself become sheepish. Though Ron being witness to the scene was not ideal, it at least distracted Hermione from asking any questions; she had yet to inquire about the cause of these occurrences, and so far Draco was content with her coming to her own conclusions. “Besides, Weasley’s an idiot,” Draco said as he looked in the mirror and fixed his hair.

“You know, Ron’s a lot smarter than you give him credit for,” Hermione defended as she glared at him.

“Well, you better hope not, or your lover boy there and Potter are going to figure it out,” Draco warned, pointing towards where Ron once stood. “Then what the fuck are we going to do?”  
Hermione was taken aback by Draco’s frank analysis of their precarious situation and furrowed her brow as she regarded him. He seemed less guarded as he spoke to her, as if his words were less precise and tactful, demonstrating a candid nature of conversation; however, his words were heavy on her as he spoke truthfully of the dangers of their current circumstances. As his words ran through her head, Hermione began to analyze the situation from an outside perspective to see if Ron or anyone else had witnessed enough to come to any conclusions. Though in her panic it had seemed as if they would be found out, when she stopped to think rationally, she realized the proof wasn’t there for anyone to come to any conclusions. “They won’t. Nothing happened,” Hermione said resolutely, as she turned up her nose in her defiance.

“You’re right. Nothing happened,” Draco said as he suddenly loomed over her. His height and proximity were meant to be threatening. His words rang with denial of their circumstance, when Hermione simply spoke of their current situation with Ron as witness. She felt her heart sink a little at his words and the darkness in his eyes; she couldn’t just forget, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to forget, ever. Hermione’s eyes met his as she looked up at him, and she couldn’t help but bite her bottom lip anxiously—an anxiety brought on by their circumstances, the current situation, and his proximity.

Seeing her plump lip become prisoner to her teeth, memories of their intimate moments suddenly flooded back to him as he remembered what it felt like to ravish her mouth and nibble on her lip. Instantly, he felt his jaw grow tight as the voices in his head screamed to forget such memories. But there was no denying as he looked at her that neither of them could forget, and it plagued them; every time they looked at one another, instead of the memories of each other as enemies springing to their mind, the images of that night sprang forth behind their eyes.

“Nothing…” she whispered as her hot breath mingled with his as he loomed above her. But just as quick as he was face to face with her, he stepped back and walked away. In a blink of an eye, she felt herself relax as his heat and scent left her; she hated how his very proximity made her weak—in mind and body. As she watched him leave, her mind came back into focus as she realized there would be questions, and as much of a prat Draco was, his sentiment was the only one she should have—“nothing happened.” She felt stuck in her spot as she listened for his footsteps to disappear.

“That’s right…‘ _nothing’_ ,” a high-pitched voice laughed from the window. Hermione’s head whipped around and she saw the shape of Moaning Myrtle lying in mid-air with her hand propped under her chin, as if watching a show.

“Myrtle,” Hermione said in surprise.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” the spectral mocked. “Well, well, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin. Making strange bedfellows, Hermione?”

“He’s just Head Boy, and I’m Head Girl. Noth–” Hermione began.

“–‘ _Nothing happened’_ , right?” Myrtle laughed.

“Right,” Hermione said resolutely as she eyed the spectral. With narrowed eyes, Hermione analyzed if Moaning Myrtle was a threat to their secret.

Suddenly, Moaning Myrtle’s visage shot through the air and stopped in front of Hermione. The girl’s dark eyes peered from behind her glasses as if into Hermione’s soul. “Neither of you believe that, I can tell,” Myrtle said. “I’m actually a little jealous,” she said sighing. “Being dead is awfully lonely.”

“I’m sor–” Hermione began, but Myrtle cut her off again.

“However, it must be hard loving someone with so little time left…” Myrtle said as she drifted away, floating across the room.

The word “love” shot through Hermione, instantly making her nauseous, but as Myrtle finished her sentence, she became even more intrigued. “What do you mean?” Hermione asked as she furrowed her brow and pushing Myrtle’s sentiments of “love” aside.

“Oh, don’t you see it?” Myrtle asked innocently.

“See what?” Hermione asked.

“He’s being cursed,” Myrtle said with dark rue as she turned to smirk at Hermione.

“…cursed?” Hermione whispered as her eyes drifted off in thought, as her quintessential rationale and analysis took over.

“Didn’t you see his eyes? They were different. _He was changing_ ,” Myrtle explained darkly. “Some _dark magic_ is being used against him. He won’t have much time now,” she explained as if she took pleasure in it. “Maybe when he’s dead, he’ll haunt the bathroom with me. There’s enough room for two; I can have the girls, and he can have the boys,” she said excitedly as she started to swirl around in the air. “And I won’t be lonely anymore,” she smiled devilishly as she stopped and looked towards the shocked Head Girl. “But that shouldn’t matter to you. ‘ _Nothing happened_ ’.”

* * *

“Ron, what are you goin’ on about?” Harry asked impatiently as Ron dragged him away from the Great Hall by his arm, babbling incoherently. Harry had been enjoying a sandwich when Ron ran in and pulled him away, saying he had to talk to him immediately. Luckily, Harry had a chance to grab an apple nearby as he was yanked from his seat. He took a bite of his apple as Ron continued to drag him.

“Hermione called Malfoy ‘ _Draco_ ’!” Ron finally articulated as he spun around when they made it to a more private hallway, away from the bustle of the Great Hall.

“She called him ‘ _Draco_ ’?!” Harry asked incredulously after quickly swallowing the bite of his apple.

“Yes!” Ron said.

“When? Where? How?!”  Harry asked desperately.

“It was after our Prefect’s meeting. Draco cut the meeting short saying he had a headache or something, and after I left I saw Malfoy and Hermione run towards the boy’s bathroom and Hermione called _his name_! _His first name_!”

“Why would she follow after him?” Harry wondered aloud. “Did you follow them?”

“Of course! You think I’m daft?” Ron said. “She actually went into the boy’s bathroom after him. It looked like she was _consoling_ him, or something,” he explained with disgust.

“What did they say?” Harry asked.

“I didn’t catch any of their conversation,” Ron answered.

“What did you say?” Harry then asked.

“I couldn’t say anything! What was I supposed to say?!” Ron asked desperately. “I mean, what does it even mean? Are they _friends_ now?!” Ron bellowed. As his voice reverberated off the stone walls, Harry motioned his hands for Ron to quiet down.

“How could you even think that?! Hermione would _never_ be friends with _Malfoy_ ,” Harry whispered harshly.

“Maybe because she’s Head Girl she felt like she had to make sure he was okay?” Ron tried to rationalize.

“That’s ridiculous—she owes him nothing!” Harry said louder, to which Ron motioned for Harry to be quiet this time.

“I know, I know!” Ron said. “Then I don’t know what to think,” he admitted weakly.

“We should just ask,” Harry said as he turned around as if ready to find Hermione immediately and confront her.

“Wait!” Ron called desperately and grabbed Harry’s arm to stop him. “You barmy? We’d be lucky not to get hexed!”

“Oh yeah, by who? Hermione or ‘ _Draco_ ’?!” Harry mocked.

 

* * *

 

As Draco sat at dinner, silently eating his stew as the other Slytherin students yammered on about inane subjects, his gray eyes glazed over in thought. But Pansy, who sat next to him, noticed his gaze seemed specific and tilted her head to try and determine where he was looking.

“Draco, what you lookin’ at?” Pansy asked as she stared off into the same direction.

As his eyes focused again, he realized his sights were set on the empty spot at the Gryffindor table—where Hermione always sat. “Nothing,” Draco mumbled as he shifted his vision down to the food in front of him.

Pansy furrowed her brow with suspicion, but the thought quickly left her mind. A salacious look appeared on her face as she leaned closer to Draco to whisper in his ear. “You know, it’s been a while since we…saw each other.” Draco didn’t seem to react to her words, so she continued. “We could, you know, meet up later.”

“Maybe…” Draco said nonchalantly as he put a spoonful of stew in his mouth. Though his answer did not confirm their plans, in the past Pansy was used to Draco’s noncommittal attitude—it was an answer he had given more than once.

“Well, you know where I am,” she whispered and then quickly licked his earlobe.

As Pansy went back to her frivolous babbling with the other students and Draco no longer felt any eyes on him, his vision snapped back to the empty place at the Gryffindor table. Casually, he wondered where Hermione was. Keenly analyzing the situation, he thought maybe she was keeping clear of Ron and Harry, who would probably ambush her with questions about what had happened earlier. Luckily, neither Ron nor Harry were particularly observant, so it was unlikely they had derived anything from the incident after the Prefect’s meeting that afternoon. To see her absent at dinner made him wonder if she was unsure of her ability to fend off their questions, to which he scoffed with annoyance before continuing his meal. A slight feeling of anxiety filled him as he realized that he might come in contact with the Head Girl again since she was probably hiding out in their dorm, away from the prying questions of her friends. Unfortunately, even if he wanted to study—or maybe even take Pansy up on her offer—he’d have to go back to their dorm first.

After dinner, Draco made his way back to the dorm to gather some books to study. On the way, he mentally prepared himself to see Hermione again—something he found himself having to do before all their encounters as of late. He needed to create an impenetrable wall against her, especially knowing that even the most casual contact made him weak against his basic impulses. No matter what his loins wanted, he knew she was one person he couldn’t—or shouldn’t—have. Every impure thought about the muddied girl sent him on a guilt spiral of loathing for himself. His indulgence in a dream for one night had made his reality a nightmare. But with each day, each encounter, each training with Snape, he felt himself becoming weaker in the face of upholding his father’s teachings and expectations as a Malfoy. His father’s voice was becoming quieter in his mind, and his own voice, which had been previously tortured into submission, was beginning to come through again. Especially as Snape called for him to fight, he came to realize the only fight he was winning was the fight to destroy himself, making him easy prey for the Dark Lord. But all Draco knew was to be a Malfoy, and everything else felt like he was a player going off-script. And in those moments, which only the tempting Head Girl seemed to bring out in him, he felt fear, but also exhilaration; however, he still couldn’t figure out if he felt exhilarated with the idea of breaking the rules, _rebelling_ , or something else.

“Lucios lemos,” Draco stated to the portrait door when he came to it. As the door swung open, the familiar ambient hues of candle light and the roaring fire shone out of the Common Room. Stepping in, Draco’s eyes took a quick peek around the room and found that he was alone. He let out a deep breath he didn’t even know he was holding, as the anxiety and anticipation of another moment with her left him. However, unbeknownst to him, a pair of hazel eyes watched him from above in a darkened doorway.

As he walked in and the door closed behind him, he made his way to his desk near the window to retrieve his books. Then the moonlight in the sky caught his eyes and he looked out onto the peaceful grounds of Hogwarts. Even with so much chaos in his own life, the nature of the world never changed—it always held a peace and calm that beckoned him. Leaning against the desk, he crossed his long arms over his chest in a position of relaxation as he looked out wistfully over the grounds. The serene silence of his solitude was only interrupted by the crackling of the fireplace behind him, and he basked in it. All day he had felt a pull to center himself, to seek seclusion, and quiet the voices within him. Every voice, be it his fathers or his own, created a constant slurry of confusion. Truly, he didn’t know what he was doing and was only going off of the script his father had written for him before he was even born.

“‘The Legibesiddelse curse,’” Hermione’s voice rang out from above.

Immediately, Draco jumped from his position and spun around to look towards the voice. But it wasn’t the voice that shocked him, but the words that she said. Instantly, panic ripped through him like a bolt of lightning. “What did you say?!” he choked out.

Hermione began to slowly descend the stairs with a book in hand—the same book the page he had left for her earlier in the year had come from. “‘The Ligibesiddelse curse: This dark magic can only be used by the most skilled and powerful wizard or witch’,” Hermione read from the book. “‘When practiced, and a victim is weak, one can transfer their soul to the target to retain their body and lifetime for their own. With this curse, one can extend their life by obtaining a new vessel for the soul.’”

Draco stood in shock, which was written all over his features. He felt a sense of déjà vu as he relived the first time she confronted him with his secrets; however, this time, he immediately felt fear—but not only for himself. This secret was never meant to be found out, and could only bring danger, possibly death, for both parties. He felt his mouth become dry as his heart began to hammer in his chest from her words.

She walked up to him slowly with the book in hand, the oversized sleeves of the sweater she was wearing spilling onto her palms where she held the book. As she stopped, feet from him, she loudly snapped the book closed which made Draco jump in his adrenalin-filled state. Seeing him become startled from the action, Hermione’s neutral look broke as if she had just realized the gravity of Draco’s revelation. Suddenly, her confidence fell, and her eyes went to the floor for a moment as she began to bite her lip. But seconds later, he hazel eyes, again determined, flicked up to meet his.

“This,” she said holding the book she had been reading, “this curse is what’s been happening to you. _He_ ,” she said, referring to Voldemort, “has been cursing you.” Her voice seemed eerily neutral as she spoke, and for once Draco could not get a read on her—he was not sure what she was going to do next. It was apparent that she had spent the evening researching, and successfully. He offhandedly wondered what had tipped her off to begin her search, but quickly pushed his wonder aside as unimportant in this moment.

Draco was silent, his jaw clasped tightly. His eyes were wide as his mind screamed in its scheming to figure out what to do next. Again he was faced with another secret he was not prepared to have revealed, except this time, it had the possibility of putting his life at risk; if another of the “golden trio” like Harry had figured this out, he was sure that the threat of Azkaban could do little to stop Harry from killing him. No matter why Draco was chosen as a vessel for the Dark Lord, he was still a threat undeserving of pity.

He could feel his heart pounding and the adrenaline coursing through is veins, making him weak. He had to act quickly, but felt paralyzed. He knew he should stop her—hurt her—as he would with any enemy that threatened him, especially with revealing his darkest secret. As she looked at him, her face giving no indication of her next action, every image of her his mind secretly cherished flashed behind his eyes. As these images flashed before him, it was as if a barrier of memories stood between him and the Head Girl that kept him from striking her as he would any other foe. His inability to act violently, which he was innately skilled at, shocked him. Even in the face of immediate danger from possible imprisonment and death if she were to reveal his secret to others, he could not fight. _Have I given up completely on my life?_ he wondered furiously.

As his pulse banged in his ears he began to realize that he had happened upon one of the most pivotal moments in his young life. He had to make a choice, and ultimately it determined both his and Hermione’s fate. This secret was one he had to protect, at all costs. _Protect?_ he thought, and a memory sprang forward and a voice that was not his nor his father’s came through—it was Snape’s: _You can protect_ them. Suddenly, it became clear what he had to do, and he felt a pain rip through his heart at the realization. There was no choice—he lost either way. With a heavy sigh, he began to slip his hand stealthily in his pocket, as he closed his eyes and prepared himself to meet his destiny. His fingers came in contact with his wand as he prepared the spell in his mind.

“I don’t think so,” Hermione said suddenly as she pointed her wand in Draco’s face. She had deftly pulled the wand from the elastic waistband in her leggings behind her voluminous sweater; she was even cunning in her choice of wardrobe that made her appear unarmed. She flicked her wand towards his pocket. “Give me your wand—handle first,” she instructed.

Draco’s eyes snapped open in shock as the tip of her wand pointed threateningly towards him. “Are you fucking serious?” he said incredulously.

“I’m _fucking_ serious!” she bellowed suddenly. Her hazel eyes lit up with fire as she glared at him trying to demonstrate as much intimidation as she could. “Give it to me. Now!” she demanded.

His gray eyes were dark as he glared at her. Her neutrality, and her slight flicker of sympathy, had hid her true determination; she was controlling this situation, and she was suspicious of him from the get-go. His deep grimace darkened as he weighed the options in his mind. For a moment, it looked as if he wasn’t going to comply, but then he began to slowly reach into his pocket and flip the wand around to grip at the assaulting end. Hermione’s eyes watched the movements of disarming intently as he pulled it from his pocket, and her fiery eyes met his as he extended it towards her. For a moment, she analyzed his face and his eyes, trying to derive any deception in his actions. Throwing the book she held in her hand to the side with a thud, she extended her other hand out to grip his wand. At that moment, her eyes left his to watch the exchange. It was then that Draco made his move.

Suddenly, Draco lunged his body at her and tackled her to the rug-clad ground. In her shock, as her body hit the firm surface, she lost grip of his wand which he forcefully pulled away from her. Pinning her underneath him, his left arm pinned her right arm to her chest and between them pointing her wand towards her own chin. With his right arm, he held down her left, that she had extended to grab his wand. He used the force of his elbow and forearm to hold the free limb down painfully. For a few moments she struggled beneath him, but when the tip of Draco’s wand pressed against her cheek from the arm that held down hers, she stopped struggling. Her breathing then became ragged with fear as her unfocused eyes tried to see the wand that threatened her. Draco’s eyes bore into her as a deep, pained grimace carved into his features. Suddenly, her teary eyes met his.

“Draco,” she whispered, her voice trembling with fear.

Instantly, the look in her eyes—something he’d never seen before—shook Draco to his core. It was as if the vulnerable wet ebbs of fear shot daggers straight into his heart. It physically hurt him to see that her eyes, which were always so strong, and were now so weak. He had never seen such fear or vulnerability in her eyes before—or in anyone’s but his own—and wished to see the eyes he remembered and dreamed. As her eyes filled with more tears, and began to fall down the side of her face, Draco felt the pain in his heart and soul begin to ebb at him. With a tight jaw, he willed to fight off the tears that sprang to his eyes.

“I-I can’t look at you,” he said through tight teeth. His face was contorted in so much pain as her round, wet eyes bore him.

“Draco, please, look at me!” Hermione pleaded as she cried. Her breathing had become erratic as the fear bellowed off of her. She had lost control—of everything. Before him, she began to break.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out as he continued to avert his eyes and fought back tears. Then, taking his free left hand, he brought it to her face and began to cover her eyes.

“No, no, stop! Draco! Stop!” she sobbed as she threw her head back and forth to keep him from covering her eyes. “Please stop!” she cried desperately as her tears covered his palms.

He held his body and hand steadfast to continue to hold her down, but her struggles broke him even more. His own painful tears began to fall down his face when she no longer witness to it. He turned his head back to look at her feeling now with her broken eyes shielded he could gain strength to continue on. She took in big gulps of breath in the darkness behind his palm. He could feel her hot tears fall down his fingers in a constant stream. With her eyes no longer witness, he took in deep breaths to try and regain control of himself. But as he looked upon her face, even without her breaking soul speaking through her eyes, the anguish and fear that still filled her features tortured him. No matter what he did to try cover her, he couldn’t suppress who she was in his mind to make his task any easier. The pain he felt in that moment was more than he had ever felt in his entire life, and his tears flowed freely from his sad and tormented eyes. No amount of personal anguish could equal the hatred he felt towards himself and for what he was doing to her. But the words Snape had spoken that sealed their destiny repeated through his head as a mantra: _You can protect_ them. Taking another breath, he began to form the words.

“Stop!!!” she cried desperately, her fearful voice ringing off the walls.

Immediately, Draco’s hand moved from her eyes to her mouth for fear that someone might hear her. It was then her eyes met his eyes again, and she saw the tears streaking down his face that matched her own. Her broken eyes mirrored his. “I-I have to protect you!” he cried, as if trying to convince her.

“No!” she mumbled underneath his hand as she shook her head frantically.

Her left arm again began to move and he pressed his right elbow down against it harder. A look of pain crossed over her face from the force he bore down on her smaller limbs. He straightened his wand out to point directly at her instead against her face. Her fearful eyes again went to the tip of the wand with a wide gaze.

“Please,” she whimpered in a muffled cry as she stared at the end of the weapon.

“I have to,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Hermione,” he cried.

Both a mess with tears, with broken souls mirrored in their eyes, they looked into each other. Though from the outside it appeared Draco was the perpetrator and her the victim, they knew within they were both victims. In that moment, two completely different people felt their worlds and their souls collide. It was fear that brought them together, as it always had. In his hate for himself, he hated her. She had been everything he had thought was weak, but she had always shown herself to be anything but. For fear that she showed his beliefs—his father’s teachings, his _existence_ , everything—was a lie, he hated her. But deep down, he feared the truth: that he didn’t hate her at all. To prove this, he knew he had no choice; to protect her he had to make her forget.

Suddenly, Hermione’s eyes seemed to widen with realization. Her eyes frantically shifted back and forth as if she was analyzing every flicker of emotion in his eyes, his soul. It was then she went quiet and closed her eyes as if to calm herself. Opening her eyes, she spoke again. “I-I won’t scream,” her muffled voice said behind palm as her eyes asked him to uncover her mouth. For a moment, he wavered, but decided to take his hand from her mouth. To her word, she did not scream. It was then she closed her eyes, the last tears in her eyes spilling out.

Draco felt the last pain stab through his soul as it appeared she accepted her fate. Taking a deep, quivering breath and closing his own eyes, he tried to draw in his last bit of strength to say the word. There was no going back—their destiny was sealed. With his left hand now free, he found himself pressing his wet palm against her wet cheek—he wanted to touch her in their last moments. “Obliv–” he began whispering.

At his touch, her vulnerable eyes shot open, and they no longer showed fear. A deep sadness shown in her eyes as she looked up at him, but beyond that sadness displayed the strength he envied. “I forgive you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Beta Reader Free_Buckbeak.


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